Stonehenge (The Real Story) Poem by Sebastian Seal

In days of yore,
When the glaciers were here,
The land was frozen to the core,
And the pubs were out of beer.

But then the ice retreated,
The Celts roamed free,
Some rejoiced and remained seated,
Others danced around a tree,

The greening of the grass,
The budding of the trees,
Caused insects to amass,
And the Celts were stung by bees.

The bees in Wiltshire had a great colony,
It was two hundred feet tall.
And had a big balcony.
But the Celts wanted a shopping mall.

The Celts demolished the beehive,
And replaced it with Stonehenge,
It ruined the bees' solstice-aligned drive,
And they wanted revenge.

So while the Celts were sleeping,
The bees shuffled the stones.
The next day they drove away the Celts
And surrounded the place with drones.

On that day the meaning was lost,
Stonehenge was no longer a shop.
For millennia visitors would pay a cost,
To wonder at history's first supermarket flop.