Queen Bee

The endeavours of a multitude of men have been substandard,

Reports the May Queen, disabused

Farcical attempts to recreate an unobtainable ideal

Slide midair, immune to her human touch

Bathed in the light of a query of uncertain yet assiduous worker bees,

Striving to achieve collective consciousness

And to resolve petty squabbles and universal apathy

Is not enough to rectify the tanging motion that makes one ill before sunrise

But it satisfies the Lady and her jubilee

As she gazes from her Crimson Peak

And for a split second witnesses her bees dematerialise

And shed their brittle wings in the morning breeze

But perpetuate, undisturbed their fundamental blight

Their unmalleable view of a summer child

Who one day will meet the May Queen

Relishing and defying through his growth

His unbounded, unilateral adulation