Prance of the Drone

Prance of the Drone

We are clothed in monotonous
fluff jackets of saffron and onyx,
for bustling around,
hexagonal wax cells.

We indulge the Empress,
nourish her writhing offspring,
majestic salve.
More for the successor,
(We were not selected)
Oh the affairs of
the Nest.

We are the hoarders
of the precious fluid,
sweetening your tea.

We step the crossways.

This is the same as this poem, only different:

https://iamnotamorningperson.wordpress.com/2009/03/05/the-dance-of-the-honey-bee/

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