Bees

I stay on my knees,

and see the busy bees.

Zipping around like darts,

with tiny little hearts.

 

I sometimes try to stand up,

but the bees sting at me.

So I often just sit and watch,

and wondering what am I not to see?

 

At nightfall, they return to the hive,

To sleep and rest until morn arrives.

The huge monstrosity is at the center

Where a million bees exit and enter.

 

I wish to enter the hive,

I wish to fly like they do,

But I cannot, for I am not.

I am not a bee, I am not you.

 

At the morning the bees rise again,

Stinging at me with the each complain.

I smile at little buggers buzzing about,

Even though they attack me with each shout.

Reviews

[Ry]

This is great. It reminds me of summer in the yard at the house I used to live at. I used to stand and water the grass as a kid, watching the ways the water moved through the air if I positioned my thumb differently on the hose. I've always been terrified of wasps, but I always wondered what they thought of me. Of course, if they came too close, I'd spray them with the hose in order to not have a heart attack at age seven, but still =) Fascinating little buggers, wasps and bees.

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

playful but with deep thoughtfulness interlaced with beautiful subtle impressions~

(I'm deathly allergic to them~literally~ and run like a screaming little girl for my epipen at even a sighting)