  One day while sitting on the beach Talking of child training With a most learned pedagogue From whose lips were raining Great torrents of most wondrous lore Upon most subjects known, My Mother learned one little fact This wise man did not own— And this through making a most sad Acquaintance with a bee, Who wore a yellow jacket suit To show his family. This stinging warrior with his stings Felt nothing of alarm And boldly marched beneath the lace That covered Mother's arm. And when she tried to let him out He stung her o'er and o'er As if he had a warrior band And when at last my Mother brave Killed this most wicked bee Her arm was, oh, so very sore, With ten lumps I could see. Said the professor solemnly While gazing at her arm, "I thought my Natural History said That bees can do no harm; If they but use their stingers once, They ne'er can sting again. But you've been stung by some insect That carriers stingers ten." "Oh, no," said Mother, with a smile, "It had one stinger wee, But now I call a yellow jacket, |
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