my gizmo chariot for some time was an abba quatrain. this is not an abba quatrain, but it is a short poem. (Orfy on his way, down & under.)

Bees dance above closed lips:
in the clear shadow of the oak
wherever they turn their heads
they follow the bright pattern.

 
Quietly, by the granite cistern
under a crowded canopy of reds,
in the cool wind a broken spoke
sways whichever way it slips.

[note: broken chariot wheel, Virgilian bees]