In a hazy field where the sun does glow,
A beekeeper, blissfully high, takes his stance,
With a smile so wide, and a heart like a bee,
He waltzes to hives that he thinks are a dance.
"Watch me, little friends, I’ll show you the flow!"
He mutters to flowers, as he shuffles in trance.
With a puff-puff-pass, he had lost the time,
Where’s his suit? Did it float like a dream?
The bees buzz around as if sharing a rhyme,
While he, in his head, is a bee-pollin’ team.
"Oh, honey!" he sings, without reason or rhyme,
But they treat him like nectar—the sweetest esteem.
He fumbles with jars, they slip from his grip,
"Why do these bees always act like they’re sweet?"
With honey on hands, he trips over a lip,
“Just dance with the bees, let the rhythm repeat!”
But they’re buzzing in chaos, a bee-lympic trip,
While he cheers in delight, waving to his fleet.
His smoke-clouded brain finds the joys misaligned,
As a hive starts to sway, like a disco ball spree,
“Are you all my homies?” he slurs, feeling fine,
Then he knocks over flowers, “Oh, what a decree!”
The bees start to gather, “We’re not one of your kind,”
And buzz off in clusters, annoyed as can be.
With sights all askew, he climbs up the shed,
To muse with the clouds, where the humor runs free,
He’s king of the bees, or at least in his head,
“Let’s make some sweet honey, just you wait and see!”
Then he slips on a jar, and down goes his tread,
"Was that a bee’s laugh? Or laughter from me?"
So if you should wander where buzzes abound,
Beware of the bees and their high-flying friend;
For a stoned beekeeper’s not quite sound,
And instead of sweet honey, you might just offend.
Yet still, they all buzz, in their floral surround,
“Next time, dear keeper, just relax and pretend!”
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
