Worker Bee Sees a Hare

To drone, I have in a world filled with prospered humanity. Like a worker bee I ready the honey in which my society cares for; I have grown tired of the strains born upon my labor; although the smells I love, it is never enough. And the satisfaction returned is forgotten, for fire always triumphs the solace that defeats the situation. The hares that cower and stare at this worker bee in his working state; a car with one route, for two teenagers who wish for a denoument.