The following poem is dedicated to my best friend. Not only did she shoot one of my favorite insects (the bee) she has an incredible knack for photographing nature. Not to mention that she means the world to me. So if the weather permits, go outside and enjoy the brillance of nature.....
The Bee
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
if only I were as industrious as our friend, the bee :-)
ReplyDeleteI love nature!
I once wrote a poem about 7,000 bees at sea, and how did they find ME, out 700 miles at sea?
ReplyDeleteA wonderful creature, who gets not nearly the attention it deserves.
Bees are cool critters. I wish that one would bring in some pollen for the Italian fig that seems to be growing but not bearing fruit.
ReplyDeletewe saw a bunch of bees at the nature center the other day and sat and watched them collecting pollen...nice poem.
ReplyDeleteThat is the cutest bee butt I've seen all day ; )
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