A bee in your bonnet

We are stuck with these bees
To beard like week’s stubble
Like burnt brush on the hills.

They hum in ears, gloriously
Pierced for gold, for catching
A sun at its rise and in its fall.

At times we open the bonnet
Looking to catch a bee under .
Queen bee seems to be gone.

A hum remains like yesterday.
Now passersby buzz old bees
Sir there is bee in your bonnet.

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