“What is that in the corner, twisting and twirling

Like string, dangling from fingers looking like poles

just ready to scratch …”

 

“Ouch, that’s my finger Patch, there yonder’s your pole”.

Nursing his finger all bloody and sore, now bandaged and bleeding,

and looking forlorn.

 

Back to the dancing with bees poem or prose, goes on with this tale,

and wrinkle of nose.

 

Patch stretched out his tail, “wow, how long does it grow?”

but outstretched next goes his claws, and wrinkled nose.

On with his arms and legs follow too

Pounce goes his body all swishing and squeals.

 

“What goes that screech… meiowww”

“Patch…quick, jump to the rescue?” Now down on all fours,

“and what happened to my fluffy sweet friend? “Aww, there”

was kissing his nose.

 

“Meiowwww”, screeches poor Patch, you see

‘twas his nose, poor shiny nose, that got stung by those bees.

 

“Stung by some bees? How can it be?” thought his friend

As by now did he wander on by, to where Patch shouted “Sneeze?”

 

Now on with this tale as all sorry and sore, did our sweet little innocent

crawl his way home. Huddled up, on his rug by the fire so warm,

 

“Aww, sshh” does Patches now asleep.

 

Investigate did his friend wander round

Until all of a sudden, quite close to the ground

Found Patches friend, a nest fallen down, of bees

Hanging low to that tree …

 

“Ouch”, goes his friend, “Noo, not me…”

  

Now sorry and sore, and holding his nose did Patches’ friend,

Now begin himself, “Sneeze”?

 

The morale this tale screeches to all, n’er wander too close

to those horrible bees.

 

© Sharon-Elizabeth Walker, 2012