Mom’s Sore

My mother said,
If she were me,
She wouldn’t play
With a bumble bee.

But she’s not me,
What does she know?
It can’t sting me,
It’s much too slow.

“Don’t make it mad”,
My mother said.
It chased her out
Of the flower bed.

It can’t catch me,
No way – no sir!
I made it mad
And it stung her!


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