The end of an age, the end of a life
The start of some good things, the death of strife
The beginning to ending what’s evaded us all
Is it there? Can we find it? Are we too small?
Are blossoms still blooming in this world that we’ve known?
I hope they don’t die before they’re full-grown
Or sadder than sad will the apple tree be
For no nectar collector for poor bumble bee
He’ll buzz all around from flower to flower
Soon he will tire; he’ll die in an hour
And fall on the ground, his wings have worn out
“More honey! More honey!” The worker bees shout
But sounds have grown dim for our tired little friend
He knows that he’s finally reached the end
He sighs with a silence so deep and profound
On a warm sunny day – he dies on the ground
After watching a bumble bee die of exhaustion - summer 67
The start of some good things, the death of strife
The beginning to ending what’s evaded us all
Is it there? Can we find it? Are we too small?
Are blossoms still blooming in this world that we’ve known?
I hope they don’t die before they’re full-grown
Or sadder than sad will the apple tree be
For no nectar collector for poor bumble bee
He’ll buzz all around from flower to flower
Soon he will tire; he’ll die in an hour
And fall on the ground, his wings have worn out
“More honey! More honey!” The worker bees shout
But sounds have grown dim for our tired little friend
He knows that he’s finally reached the end
He sighs with a silence so deep and profound
On a warm sunny day – he dies on the ground
After watching a bumble bee die of exhaustion - summer 67
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