The Fable of the Bees.

We're all busy little bees, full of stings, making honey ...
aren't we, Honey?

The Crumbling Hive.

A spacious hive well stocked with bees,

Accommodates many in Luxury and Ease;

It's mostly known for its Laws and Arms,

Manufactured smartphones and drones in swarms.

Once seen as the Great Nursery

Of Sciences and of Industry

No bees had better Government,

More Fickleness, nor less Content.

They weren't mere slaves to Tyranny,

Nor subjects to the whims of Kings

Their will inscribed in Perpetuity:

a wild Republican Democracy.

These insects looked like human beings,

Were always from some peril fleeing,

Zoomzoomzoom in everlasting flight

To outrun Death and eternal Night.

Vast numbers thronged this fearful hive

Such numbers are what make it thrive,

Hellbent on manufactory

Stoking each other's vanity;

With other multitudes employed

To see their handiwork destroyed. 

These own stocks and take no pains

Expect of business to make them gains

All trade and stations harbor Cheats

No Industry's without Deceit:

Physicians value Fame and Wealth

Above their dying patients' health

Of their own skill, the greater part

Is stupefied, dulled, devoid of art,

Grave pensive looks and rude behavior

All give the Pharmacists good favor.

With formal smile and forced "How do Ye?",

They make empty gestures toward Family,

For which their greatest curse is,

They earn the impertinence of Nurses.

But you can't blame doctors for crystal meth

nor Breaking Bad's merchant of Death,

It's we named Vice ingenuity, 

Made of addiction an Industry.

A perfect example to illustrate 

a lesson that we've learned too late,

Our boasted freedom goes hand in hand 

With private ownership of land.

 Thus the Virtue that claims one man as brother

Of Necessity vilifies the Other,

Which lends to husband wife and daughter

a Hand in all of mankind's Slaughter.