The Bees, The Trees, and The Fleas

First come the bees,
Soaked in yellow and black.
I ask for honey, please.
There is no slack.

Then come the trees,
A big one by the shack.
They sing with the breeze.
I start to unpack.

Next are the fleas.
I think they’re quite whack.
They spread their disease.
Time to double back. 

This journey was nice,
For sure worth its price.
It was fun to roam,
But I must now go home.

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