Stranded
By H. H. Bennett
’Twas on a sunny morn in June,
The bee had put his pipes a-tune
And buzzed his way across a field,
The while the birds their love-song spieled.
He buzzed and ate full many an hour,
Then crawled into a dainty flower
And curled himself up for a nap,
The same as any drowsy chap.
A cow came browsing through the moor
And towards the little floweret bore;
Not knowing that the bee was there,
She put it on her bill of fare.
So rudely wakened from his doze,
His beeship’s fiery temper rose.
“Old Cow,” he said, “I’ll sting you deep
When I have finished up my sleep.”
So, cuddling in his darksome den,
Eftsoons he went to sleep again.
He slumbered on till nearly dawn—
When he awoke, the cow had gone.
* * *