Five years as the reigning queen.

Made her feel weak and old.

And the captain of her royal guard

More reticent than bold.

 

For now they stood beside the hive

That once had been their home.

Where they had spent long evening hours

Telling tales about a drone.

 

Pieces of sweet honeycomb

Were smashed upon the field.

Shaken by the evil winds,

A thing that witches wield.

 

No regrets, so deeply felt

For causing such bad weather

Could restore the beehive now

And put it back together.

 

“Witches,” said Drucilla

To her royal guard one day.

“Be careful what you say to them,

Or you will have to pay

The price of all their vanity,

For they’ll use any means

To avenge themselves for one small hurt.

Good God! They’re just like . . . queens.