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SWEET TALK AT THE APICULTURIST ASSOCIATION’S AGM

He combed the colony for Deborah,

until his social antennae quivered.

He thought a centrifugal extractor

lacked the pulling power he manifested.

Having made a bee-line for her, he droned

on and on in his rather bumbling way,

waxing lyrical under the codlin trees,

thinking at last he might be in clover;

certain he was the proverbial knees.

She didn’t find his voice mellifluous,

though he employed trite honeyed endearments.

She wished he would not swarm all over her,

so her responses were rather barbed.

He almost made her want to take the veil.

She became disaffected by stamens.

And that stingy little drink he’d bought her!

How was it she felt so pistillated?

It would be super if he would buzz off-

then she could go and forage for some grub,

or go and hide in the larvatory.

Didn’t he know she couldn’t stand smoking,

or his pungent ambrosial aftershave?

Oh, Melissa’s got some Royal Jelly,

she said, making for the alighting board.

Must fly!  What an e-skep!  She could smell rape.

The mere thought of him brought her out in hives.

At least she didn’t have to dance with him.

It would be nectar right, nor propolis:

no success for his sting operation.

Candia, you’ve got to stop these awful punning poems!

Brassie was being candid with me and that was usually my take

on everything.

For goodness sake, hurry up and tell me what is going on at St Birinus

Middle School.  It will be half term before we know it and everything has

gone quiet regarding Snodbury & Co. If I ask Castor and Pollux what the

latest is at school, they just say, ‘Nothing much.’  It is most frustrating

being the only female in an otherwise all-male household.  They don’t do

gossip.  Even the dog is male and since the op, doesn’t do bitching either.

Well, have a care, I soothed her.  I will tap into the Suttonford grapevine

and, once I have rightly interpreted a few Chinese whispers, I will let you

know the truth, varnished or unvarnished, according to my sources.    

That will be largely highly augmented and over-polished then, laughed

Brassie.

As the philosopher said, the best poets are the best liars, I parried.

Ooh, you are awful..

..but I like you.  I finished the quote- an annoying habit of mine, I must

admit.

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