On the couch, naked

The bee is gone,
The busy one.
Left his peripheral post
For a night on the northern coast.
While fellow bard
Acquire lard
And sit quietly on our hands.

Well, he’s the sort
Who’d think it a tort.
On a normal quest for fish,
One’s typical primary wish
Is revelry and hype
Of the fiascotastic type.
And I fear the reprimand.

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