The birds fly

And plead at

My feet, and

With the warning

In the form

Of flowers,

The flowers chirp,

Begging me with

Their soft voice

To not go into 

The wasp's nest

 

Yet like a fool

Waiting for a

Net to cling

To my feet

I intrude the

Wasp's nest

And I try to

Crown myself

As the Queen,

 

But the wasps

Have a guillotine

And they throw

Me on the scaffold

And it is only

My head that

Remains as they

Victoriously hold it

High, and the flowers

Hang their wilted

Heads low as the birds

Sing a dirge.