Burned At Both Ends

Why do you waste good sun? Burned from both ends. and drained from the middle. The light and heat which you seek, laid out and stacked as neat as the shoes taken off of your tired feet. Yet all that it owns does fit, into the box that you have tied in silk to it. Hands of soft waxed bubble bee. It breaths in the light that you leave to see. The lace around the part that cleaves to the heart of it's tree. It draws forth it's straw, it is bought in song along it's aft, is middle breached such for velvets gloved soft sacked cloth. It burns at both ends, it's honey the bee flies from this tree is coached out to it's the bowl and all of the rest, is left to the bee most humbled to make more..