Ode To A Bee

Sitting in the square, drinking a cup of tea
Sun heavy on my cheeks, I watch the coming and going of locals.
The breeze is filled:
High-pitched squeals,
Grown-up chatter,
And the journey of the bees to a bush, abundant with purple flowers.

I sit and watch, each floats with a bounce from tip to tip
Of green and purple, dipping their heads into buds.

I bite into a small sandwich, with drips of marmalade
And setting it down, I am surrounded by a chorus of buzzing.
Circling my head like a crown and orbiting my body
Getting closer and closer to my warm skin
Many small striped bodies.

I want to push them away,
I’ve let them get too close
Yet I find myself hypnotized, drunk with sun
On this autumn afternoon.
So I remain still, in the brown wicker chair.

A melody of breeze fills the red treetops; the bees are lifted to sky.
Disappearing:  shooting stars into the wind.

I sip my tea, watching the locals.
Listening to squeals
And the buzzing
Of purple flowers.

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