An inquisitive bee
enquired of me
‘What is it like
to sail the sea?’
.
I thought a while,
and then replied,
it’s a lovely life,
the sea to ride,
.
upon a boat,
that stays afloat,
and doesn’t sink at all.
.
Why do you ask?
Do you feel the call?’
.
The bee
looked at me,
and said,
‘Why is the sky blue?
and where do Rainbows come from?’
.
‘What is a quoit?
Where is Nepal?’
And then it took flight
out of my sight,
with ne’er an answer at all.
I saw a bumble bee,
who apologised to me
“I didn’t mean to buzz your way.”
I heard the little fellah say.
.
‘That’s okay,’ I said, ‘That’s quite alright,
I was just admiring your flight.’
Is there such a thing
as a Bee Day?
A day when the humble bee
is treated like royalty?
If not, there should 🐝.
Work hard, play hard,
much smaller than a buzzard;
flies higher than a lizard;
sees no further
than a wizard in a blizzard;
a bumble bee
is a humble bee
and a hungry bee
is a rumbly-tumbly bee.
🐝🐝🐝🐝
Not by Unrest Hummingway,
but by me,
purveyor of words
in sentences,
upon bees and birds,
in present, future,
and past tenses;
and, yes,
I am an old man,
and daily older grow,
in my life measured in years,
which is not a thing a bee would know.
And as a Mayfly counts every second
in its day-long life, is reckoned
beyond value,
and of immeasurable worth,
to travel in one day
from birth to the end;
so must a bee
conceive lots of mirth,
rejoice every friend,
and live every moment
with a song in its soul,
for tomorrow might not bring flowers
but a bell that will toll.
A bee
buzzed at my window,
‘Let me in!’ said the bee.
‘Why do you want to come indoors?’
I asked,
‘There are no flowers in here,
the outside is yours.’
The bee replied, as only bees can,
‘I want to go,
where I never have been,
to gather information,
to instruct the Queen,
on all that there is,
and all that is done –
and, to be honest,
twenty-four seven,
hour after hour,
buzzing from flower to flower to flower,
is not my idea of fun.
To take some time off
from gathering food,
keeps a bee hungry,
stops a bad mood;
and inside your house
looks a place I should go…
and it’s getting quite cold,
and it’s starting to snow.’
“That leaf… said Bee,
‘… is the exact same leaf
that fell upon my head last year.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Butterfly,
‘it can’t be, Bee…’
Bee liked Butterfly, and didn’t want to appear to argue.
‘No. I suppose it cannot be, for that would almost be beyond bee leaf!’
Butterfly groaned at Bee’s pun, and took her leave.
I know
I know nothing;
which means…
I know something
and not nothing,
as I had, until recently, thought.
But, I know not what
A wasp
And a butterfly
really ought.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #bee, #Butterfly, #Flutterby, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #silly
The Bee landed upon
the Buddleja,
rooted around for a while,
and then was gone.
Then returned for more.
And more.
And a whole lot more.
The Bee loved the Buddleja
that was for sure.
I’m a busy bee
too busy for poetry.
.
©graemesandford.com
Graeme Sandford 