The Queen Bee
I remember a story once told to me.
About a woman who was a queen bee.
Do you have any idea what that is?
Neither did I, till it came to this:
A queen bee ran the roost, you see.
She wouldn’t listen to anyone like me.
To her, I was just a worker bee.
Doing her bidding, as she may see.
I didn’t dare give her any lip.
If I did, I would be in deep s—t.
It was known, she had a deadly stinger.
She would use it with a point of her finger.
Now, you would think a bee would produce honey.
In her case, she was only interested in money.
The more I made, the happier she was.
She would deck herself out in anything but love.
I wanted out of this crazy overbearing hive.
Too escape, I would have to die.
I faked my death just to get away.
I always fear she will find me someday.
I’m sure she cashed in on the life insurance.
Just a way to increase her endurance.
She needs another worker bee for her hive.
Are there any volunteers that are alive?
She will take you under her wing.
Misbehave & she’ll give you a hell of a sting.
Well, that’s the story, as told to me.
The guy that told it was the worker bee.
He only told the story under hypnosis.
When awake, he only says “How goes it?”
Name withheld for patient confidentiality.
Would you want to be known in reality?
Today’s lesson, from what I can see.
Don’t get trapped by a queen bee.
—————————————–R.W. Johnson—–(2019)