he pass’d a guy with seven wives.
(Imagine what a Hausfrau drives.)
Each “better half” held seven hives
she'd subdivided, using knives.
Each bride had sliced those into fives --
the bees sent fleeing for their lives,
each executing seven dives
(if spook’d, an insect truly strives:
it’s how each at-risk hive survives.
In last analysis, it thrives)
each dive a writhe of seven jives,
set free, each, from confining gyves.
Gyves, jives, dives, lives,
fives, knives, hives, drives –
plus just one guy, though seven wives.
So: how few motor'd toward St. Ives...?
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