The Queen Bee

A fountain of dryness Deserts flow cloud belly to the arid brown. Inside the fountain, the bottom of zest, The penny lay await, eye wide, no dreams died. Here comes the mistress In garments to her knees Duchess of Fountain: the town of keys, An elegance of pinkness, woman of sun. Inside the high fountain Between a thousand coins, pennies Sits three peaceful keys. One with a tooth lodged hinged. The mistress, Queen of bees. hands on Oval mouth falls with teeth shedding from wingless bees. The second key lay tangled in green weeds The head weld with an iced crown. Alas, she is the mistress of bees. She is crowned. The bees are helpless, they must bow down. And largely to the left of her gold dress, Like a morgue sleeper, is the biggest key - Rough as a murder, it sleeps With a heart on its head, jailed constrictor. The town bees open wide as the moon. Their hearts gears murmur softly. The mistress has control. She stares at the sun. Smile heavy Dust off her keys Teeth all gone but hearts lay flat Declaring her crown. The fountain is flowing The bees are working They hear the keys They are rattling.