The Bee Loud Glade of death

The yellow striped torso caught the sun,

revealing the trembling tiny hairs

and fragile filigree wings working

with God to nurture nature and so

—-

the bee flew over the fence to

the fragile flowers opening to the sun, 

and heard the happy buzzing of harvest;

as he sipped sweetness of stamens and 

—-

packed pollen baskets ensuring survival;

and banded bodies caked with yellow dust

feasted on people poisoned plants, and

—-

Struggling back to a busy, booming base

grew the honeycomb for the winter’s food.

The six-sided cells filled with sweetness,

Bursting with new life, delighting  

the dancing queen. Til,

—–

everyone of them sickened and died. 

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H

margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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