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It was once a day in sweet February
In a place all known to Tom, Dick and Harry
Drenched in sweat of cold and weary
Strangers it may seem, eyes not teary
In the spirit of light and of fun
As we two bake in the golden sun
Both hands clenched, your foot on top
Reach for something worth not a drop

A beehive of sorts with honey inside
No fear of them stings, lest we died
Thomp, boom, crack, slurp then ow!
A sting on your hand, ask not how

Not mind them stings, honey’s what’s good
Better than soda, milk or any food
As we sit down beneath nasty old pain
Enjoying them sweet honey that poured like rain

For months we lavished on our escapade
No amount of sting can make us afraid
Beehive to beehive together we hop
Sweet things like ours, seem never to stop

As the months passed by like autumn to spring
We can no more find any of them sweet things
Not one of us also wants another sting
The honey was now just a summertime fling

All those stings caused them bees to perish
All those sweet things ceased to be relished
No more bees to cause all the stings
No more bees to make them sweet things

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