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

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

Previous Poem Return to poem list. Next Poem