
Flowers in the rain
Petals open to sustain
Life that is and is to be
Crouched in hidden expectancy
Bees by colors in delight,
Arrested, nay, beguiled, alight.
To sip and gather on furry feet
Nectar and pollen of life so sweet.
Flower to flower in drunken run
Dance the mystery now begun.
by Joann Nelander
* “A hapless male bee, blind drunk with the flower’s overpowering pheromones, might well mistake a toadstool for a suitable mate” a tidbit from Wikipedia
Alas the bee proclaims…”they are called bar flies…not bar bees”…and so he continued on his appointed rounds like a surgeon checking carefully upon each patient…Enjoyed your poem.
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Thanks. Enjoyed your merry quip!
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