Title: Waxing Lyrical
Animal: Bumblebee

My crimson table's a feather-soft tent,
Where hours of flow'ry lovemaking are spent,

Surrounding myself with golden clustered
Ovarian fruits that leave me flustered.

I have no watch, so I watch the sky,
And the shadows shifting low to high,

And when I must return to my waxy comb,
'Tis Her Highness Herself that welcomes me home.

The End

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