Sometimes when perusing the files in my mind
  I'll find some obscure memories.
Once I remembered my mission to make
  A fortune from my slimmer bees.

I put the bees through a tough training regime.
  My A-Team-like bee team could beat
The bees from the hives where indiscipline thrived,
  Where honey would taste of defeat.

People could easily tell from the noise
  That my recruits were the bee's knees.
Others were toes. Their buzzing was prose.
  Mine filled the warm summer breeze

With poetic buzzes in old red brick gardens
  Where slow-headed people will pause
To listen to verse that's composed with a grasp
  Of nature's strict metrical laws.

The bees in my hives were as busy as beavers.
  They were high achievers who glowed.
They thought of MacGyver as their ideal leader.
  I've seen webs of spiders explode.

I hoped to make money from their golden honey
  That had the sweet taste of success.
But people reacted as if I was selling
  Glass jars that contained a duck's mess.

Before I discovered these memories of
  My doomed-to-bust bee industry,
I wasn't aware I had done such a thing.
  My mind tells me that it must be.

Unlocking these memories leaves me in shock.
  I gasped at my bee escapade.
Once I discovered that I once invented
  A scissors with one extra blade.

The files that I find in my mind help explain
  My feelings for hot air balloons.
I raced a balloon against people allowed
  To bring guns but not their harpoons.

Some former whale-hunters took part in these races
  To chase the great whales of the sky.
These vast levitating leviathans left
  From Munich one day in July.

Thousands of people turned out at the start
  To see us depart and wave flags.
Some of my rivals brought kitchen utensils
  In countless suitcases and bags.

One of them brought his piano, his oboe,
  His double bass and his bassoon.
He'd be near the end of his list of supplies
  If he'd started reading last June.

The basket that hung from his massive balloon
  Had fireplaces for freezing weather.
The four spacious rooms had impressive oak chairs
  Upholstered with soft maroon leather.

My only luggage was one huge red bag,
  And this contained nothing but air.
Discontent reigned in the minds of my rivals.
  I sensed it from my airborne lair.

Lacking their weight I went straight to the front.
  Our two-month-long race seemed decided.
Newspaper hype helped inflate my repute.
  My rivals were harshly derided.

In my head the yearning to fly in the sky
  Was not to defy God's directives.
I loved seeing awe on the faces below.
  I felt the warm glow that respect gives.

But as I flew over a snow-covered peak
  I feared God's contempt for my flight.
I'd dreamt I would die on a diet of wine.
  My future did not seem this bright.

It wasn't a heavenly hand from above,
  But many strong men down below.
Through aerial fishing they landed a whale
  And dealt my grand race plan a blow.

Their hook hit my basket and they pulled me down.
  Their task was to intercept me.
My rivals had hired them. They didn't believe
  That airborne whales must be kept free.

They led me away down a steep mountain slope.
  I made my escape with a leap.
My soft landing left me with hope that I'd meet
  The nice death I'd seen in my sleep.

I followed a path that led into a forest.
  Those fishermen followed me in.
I told God I'd certainly settle for death
  With dark chocolate gateau and gin.

Before I'd gone far I encountered a woman
  Who dragged me away from the path.
At first I thought this must be God's final offer.
  I wasn't disgruntled with that.

But she had a great hiding place in a hollow.
  We heard my pursuers run past.
The sound of their footsteps soon faded away.
  For once I was glad they were fast.

Her name was Brunhilda. I owed her my life,
  And maybe a dark chocolate death.
I sensed that a Black Forest gateau was looming.
  We hadn't escaped the woods yet.

Hunger and cold were still threatening life,
  But she had a knife and a match.
Brunhilda soon killed a wild boar and she lit
  A fire for cooking her catch.

We spent that cold night in a desolate clearing,
  Warmed by the heat from the flames.
At dawn we set out to retrieve my balloon.
  Millions would soon know our names.

The crowds were ecstatic when we won the race.
  We went to great banquets with princes.
We received accolades, honours and plaudits.
  I learnt what her mischievous grin says.

She needed adventure. She easily found it.
  We faced an array of grave dangers.
Ghostly grave-diggers worked hard to confine us
  In tombs with mysterious strangers.

In doom-laden rooms near an old fog-bound wharf
  There loomed a most serious threat.
We fought off ten henchmen and fled on a boat
  Without getting injured or wet.

For years I did not have the slightest idea
  That these events had taken place.
I still can't remember remembering them
  Before I remembered the race.

Sometimes I wonder did I really race
  A hot air balloon at high speed.
But it would explain the 'Brunhilda' tattoo
  That I need a mirror to read.