The Black Death stands with his herd
nibbling on the tough, stubby grass.
The large crown adorning his head
gleaming in the noon-time sun.
Suddenly, he feels a large bee pierce his side.
He does not hear the sound that follows.
He simply runs with the rest of the herd.
Away from the bee which pierced his hide
He grows weak as he tries to follow his herd
But, falls nostrils first into the dirt.
He does not rise for a time
And instead waits for his herd to return.
But, they leave him in the hot African sun, to burn.
He does not see them approach.
Does not know that they encroach
Upon the space which he holds so dear.
And again the bee stings his thick, black hide.
And with one last, long sigh
Because of the killer bee
That stung his hide.
They cape him out.
While his body is still stout
And place his head above the fire
For all to admire.