How must it be To be a bee And from the hive Each morn to flee? With joie de vivre Each bee Must leave, Among dew-wet Bud and shoot To weave, To dart and swoop And even do A loop-the-loop So joyful Must he be, The sparkling amber sun To see. How grand it is To roam the land, Through seeming Endless bowers soaring! In search of Vivid, varied flowers How sweet to spend One's life exploring! To know each hour With bee-like ken, That while Among the buds you spin The whole day through, What it is you do Is what 'twas meant For bees to do: To kiss the jonquil Sweet and deep; To brush the rose In whose petal glows The gentle blush Of endless spring; To gambol through A forsythian maze, Whose dizzy yellow mass Will with delight enfold Every hungry, happy bee That gladly loses Self in that blissful Golden sea. Singing in the amber sun, Bee and bud are one; The love one gives, The other takes And with that love Luscious honey makes. The flower shares Its sight and scent And to sip its nectar Welcomes every bee content. The bee transforms The flower's gift, And others to sustain Swift gives it up again. The bee Takes only what is his; For what is his Is All That Is. The world provides For those who love and give: The more we share, The more we live. Part bloom are we, Part sun and tree; Part of us Lives within the bee. Knowing this, How happy Must be the bee! Knowing this, How happy, too, Are we!
4/12/77 - 12/21/77
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