The Queen Bee beholds the hurricane
from within the eye of the storm,
beyond the gales and the rain—
thinking herself mistress of that swarm.
Thrilling in the vortical powers,
she flaps her small wings much faster
to grow the winds and showers
like a true black magic spellcaster.
Buzzing louder in the funnel’s eye
she exults in the stormy view,
but no one commands the sky—
both queen and beehive are destroyed, too.
*Note— Queen Bees do not command any bee in the hive, but instead release odorous pheromones to let the worker bees know when she needs to eat and mate. As to other bees, they communicate through “waggle dances” and through odors also. This poem is an allegory, obviously, more concerned with humans than bees.