From the hollow trees in their native home <br />them old fellows cut the honeycomb. <br />On honey and little white grubs they fed, <br />'cause them young bees was blackfeller's bread. <br />That's why they was so mighty and strong <br />in their native home in Currarong. <br />An' them old fellers' drink was honey-bul; <br />honey and water, a coolamon full. <br />Naked through the bush they went, <br />an' never knew what sickness meant, <br />them native bees could do you no harm, <br />they'd crawl all over your honey-smeared arm. <br />But them Eyetalian bees, they'd bung <br />your eyes right up. When we was young <br />we used to rob their honey-trees, <br />Savage! they'd fetch your blood, Them bees <br />would zoom an' zing an' chase a feller <br />from Bombaderry to Bodalla <br />Well Old Uncle Ninah, and Billy Bulloo <br />Old Jacky Mumbulla, King Merriman too, <br />them fierce old fellers, they're all gone now. <br />An' the wild honey's still in the gumtree bough.<br /><br />Roland Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bees-12/
