With apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward.
Into the DCA
Flew the six hundred.
“Forward, the Drone Brigade,
A flight for the future,” they said.
Into the DCA
Flew the six hundred.
Forward the Drone Brigade.
Was there a drone delayed?
Even the young one’s sure
They were their
sisters’ future.
Theirs not to wail and cry,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to mate and die.
Into the DCA
Flew the six hundred.
Drones to the left of them,
Drones to the
right of them,
Rivals in front of them
Shimmied and faltered.
No queen would be denied
Nowhere to shirk or hide,
Boldly they flew, and well,
Drawn by the mating smell
Upward with every breath
Into the jaws of death,
Flew the six hundred.
Flashed all their lances fair,
Flashed as they laid them bare
Sabring the queen bees there
While all the hive wondered.
High in the afternoon smoke
‘Talians and Russians alike
Right through the line they broke
Escaping the saber stroke …
… except a few drones who,
Shattered and sundered,
Were no longer part of
The dauntless
six hundred.
Now that their work is done,
The colony’s future won
Ne’er shall their glory fade.
Oh, the wild flight they made
As worker bees wondered.
Honor the flight they made,
Honor the Drone Brigade,
Noble six hundred.