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Buzz! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. His legs are of yellow; A jolly good fellow, And yet a great worker is he. In days that are sunny He's getting his honey; In days that are cloudy He's making his wax: On pinks and on lilies, And gay daffodillies, And columbine blossoms, He levies a tax! Buzz! buzz! buzz! The sweet smelling clover, He, humming, hangs over; The scent of the roses Makes fragrant his wings; He never gets lazy; From thistle and daisy, And weeds of the meadow, Some treasure he brings. Buzz! buzz! buzz! From morning's first light Till the coming of night, He's singing and toiling The summer day through. Oh! we may get weary, And think work is dreary; 'Tis harder by far To have nothing to do. |