A surfeit of lampreys (or the like).
An excess of chevrons
were bending my ear
about some irksome subject
followed by a queue
of bees – not your average, run-of-the-mill
B&Q bees, these were your white rose bees –
bees that only supped from the cup
of the white rose of York.
As Richard the Third never once said:
‘I’ve seen a horse fly!’
Well, these bees thought that they were the bees’ nizz.