bumble bee
- November 7th, 2011
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Acrobats in the air,
Fire driven hard and rare.
The many left replete,
A few favoured beyond care.
There beneath the tongues creep,
Broken,
Shattered,
Pressured,
Ready to weep.
Rounded domes
Clear but white
Clouded vision
Invisible at night
Searing rivers
Driven by spite
Leaching poison
A necessary rite