In Which My Arms Begin to Dance

The day was warm

and I was asleep,

beneath the shadows

 of a wailing tree.


The wind blew in

the calming hymn

of birds who tear

through the air.


But hidden beneath

was strange little hiss

that kept creeping nearer.


Annoyed I looked up with glare

Jumping up and pounding the air

Only to meet the stingers of bees

in which my arms began to dance.

The End

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