The Bee

Quaint, a bee,

Zooms rapidly,

Through the warm moonlight.


Her destination predesigned,

A star upon the night.


She lands upon a golden lake

With nectar in her hair,

To flight she takes, once again, away without a care.

Quaint, a bee,

Flies carelessly,

Through the denim sky.


She doesn’t know of hell or heaven 

Or that she’s going to die.


She thinks she’s at the very top,

Her life will have no end,

She drops upon a floral leaf to never fly again.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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