Once upon an early morning, I woke up to the storming,
Loud and scary, as I made the breakfast I adore––
While I started eating, suddenly there came a buzzing,
As of someone gently, scratching at my oven door.
“Tis the Thanksgiving turkey,” I pondered “buzzing at my oven door––
                            Burnt, we can't eat it anymore.”

And the radiant, rapid, wave of whirling of the gray microwave
Frightened me –– enlightened me with sensational fears never felt before;
So that now, to calm the chattering of my teeth, I started rattling
“Tis some turkey chillin’ behind my oven door––
Some burnt turkey in the oven behind the door––
                               That is it and nothing more.”

Quickly my voice grew hoarse; hesitating to find the source,
“Ma’am,” said I, “or gentleman, surely your mercy I hope for;
But the fact is I was eating, and suddenly you came fussing,
And so faintly you came buzzing, buzzing at my oven door, 
That I swore I heard you” –– here I pulled down the door;––
                           Oven racks and nothing more.

At this moment while eating plain butter, when, with many a sting and stutter,
In the oven was a bee, but I could have swore I heard a roar;
Not the least gesture made he; not a greeting made by the bee;
But, with a lazy and lethargic mood,  hanging out above my oven door––
Sitting upon a towel on the handle of my oven door––
                Chillin’, and sitting, and nothing more.

But the bee, flying lonely around the kitchen, spoke only
That one word, as if his mind was in that one word he did find.
No one sing then he uttered -- not a wing then he fluttered--
Till I quietly muttered “Other bees have flown before--
And with sorrow he will leave me, as my faith has flown before.”
                       Then the bee said “furthermore”