Forever Amber
I'm sealed inside an amber blob,
My resin all sublime;
The nobs with whom I used to hob
Are from another time.
But I recall that golden age,
In Hope's eternal spring,
When common drones could earn their wage
Without an extra sting.
It is a national disgrace
That I should thus survive
To see some poke a nose or face
Into our holy hive.
For we are honourable bees
Who serve a honeyed queen,
And never ask for favours, fees.
Our pollen's sticky-clean.
No apiarist of any note
Possesses proper cause
To excavate from gut or throat
Bacteria or spores.
Does anyone revile our swarm?
And are we so despised?
These questions make me very warm
(Though I am fossilised).