The Worker and the Drone.

The Worker and the Drone.
527.3

A tolling bee from flower to flower,
Made baste to gather royal sweets,
Then homeward with his nectar load-
Each day the willing task repeats.

And when the winds of winter blow,
And flowers no longer yield their sweets
The busy worker folds his wings,
And feels his labors all complete.

But how about the buzzing drone,
That sang the pleasant days away;
No stores laid by: no wealth amassed,
Not e’en a home or place to stay.

His life is forfeited to his sloth,
His usefulness long sluce is o’er;
The patient workers drive him hence
To perish-none his fate deplore.