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The bumblebees buzzed busily about,
Buzzing by in the breeze.
Beautifully black and yellow balanced,
But behind them lies a bitter point.

The wind whistles with a weary sound,
Winding around the withering roses
And the white mountains wide,
Without whispering to the bees.

Little bees don't listen
To the light laughter of the air.
They lack emotion a little
Unlike the laughing wind.

And the air always attempts
To alert the bees,
But alas the bees are aloof
To all thought of anything.