The Striving Beehive

Once I was strolling through a path where one sees,
A rather large hive with a collection of working bees, 
Buzzing off to their labour and pleasing their queen, 
And guarding themselves from the hornets unseen.

The male bees ventured out to find undiscovered pollen,
But on this perilous journey some soldiers lay behind, fallen,
But others manoeuvred finely through the barriers,
To extract the pollen from flowers to place into their carriers.

Inside the hive the queen bee was busy inspecting,
New baby bees who would have a job from the queen’s directing,
And work in the most intricate factory known to strive, 
Where labour was the main tradition: a beehive.