b’s

A humble bumble bee sits on a pedal patiently

and thinks aloud to no one:

"is this what i'm supposed to be?

a wand'ring little fuzzy thing

that goes from place to place,

marking every flower, shoving pollen in my face?"

The buzzing flyer hovers lightly, adjacent to a stem

and sees the thorns just next to him:

"I won't go near them again."

Careful to preserve his fur, he moves 'round them expertly,

oh what a life it is to live, the humble bumble bee.

Together back at homebase, the group begins to gather

the mass exodus is about to start, they're just waiting for the master

as is tradition she enters slow and the drones bow reverently,

she whispers something to her right and the bees begin their buzzing

about to play their part together:

"my God it's so exciting"

meanwhile

Perfect, patient, flower pedals sit waiting for their guests,

presenting pollen so politely, upon their gentle faces.

Enchanted by their own aroma, lazily they sway

in the intermittent meadow breeze that will bring the bees today.

Not so humble now they charge, as the morning sun awakens

a hoard of warriors it seems, will shortly overtake them,

and excitedly the flowers brace for the weight of their subtractors

who will unknowingly progress the lineage of the flowers.

It's over just as quickly as the whole business began,

the flowers emptied, satisfied;

as the bees, treasure in hand

leave the meadow fellows, swaying lighter than before

and the breeze somehow has shifted giving them a lift back home.

The single humble bumble bee now weighted down with pollen

reflects back on his life with gratitude as evening falls and

delights in his life which seems so big, so rich, so full

though little does he know he's only got one week to go.