There’s a bee in my sonnet

There’s a bee in my sonnet

and I don’t know what to do;

I’ve thought a lot upon it,

I just haven’t got a clue.

.

The bee is buzzing loudly,

calling all its friends?

Now the bee is waving proudly,

I wonder how this ends.

.

If I get stung I’ll surely cry,

or inflate like a balloon;

but, whatever happens, I will try

not to check out far too soon.

.

There’s a bee in my sonnet,

and it’s got my number on it.