A Sting In The Tale

 

The throbbing drone

borne upon a summer breeze,

that moves the grass gently

and whispers through the trees.

The honeycomb

dribbles onto plates at high teas.

We take for granted

simple pleasures such as these.

 

From the mountain pastures

to the shores of tranquil seas,

they bob and weave and buzz

on their busy working sprees.

To the flower’s lock

they are natures keys,

spreading the pollen.

Hooped intricacies.

 

Yet the pesticides we use

harm them by degrees

and blood sucking parasites

drain them as they please.

Man will not survive

unless the world decrees

that we must do all we can

to save the humble bees