Busy Bee

She buzzed around the wildflowers, stripes of yellow and black

Collecting the pollen and nectar, like her comrades, taking it back

To the hive with an aura of frantic, each bee intent on filling their stores

To satisfy their resplendent queen, see their kin through the winter once more

But this bee had a spark of idea, growing deep within her soul

It wasn’t one she dared to voice, for it went against all their goals

She felt guilty for even feeling it, and pushed it down deep inside

Continuing in her duties, the spark sputtered, but didn’t die

Quietly and without thought, she began to collect wax in her cell

Why she hoarded the substance, it was impossible to tell

Until a compulsion to shape it seized her, the spark ignited deep in her soul

She moulded and prodded and fashioned all night, a force deep within took control

When the morning came she stood back, and looked upon the creation

The intricate patterns and flow of the wax, defying explanation

Yet the fire, now banked to an ember, whispered a word to her heart

Wrapped in dreams and possibilities, the word she heard was art

Talk began to spread through the hive, of the worker bees deviation

It hummed and thrummed with an energy, bordering on agitation

A few bees looked upon the sculpture, and felt a blossoming within

Most looked on it uncomprehendingly, feeling fear of what might begin

What purpose does it serve? They asked her in consternation

The voice deep within flowed through her once more, not purpose, imagination

Without context for the meaning, the word struck fear into their hearts

They ordered the wax dismantled, banned all talk of imagination and art

But ideas, once birthed into the world, have a life force all of their own

They spread where they are needed, take root and set up home

The bees that felt a blossoming, followed their instinct to create

For joy, for love and expression, to satisfy something innate

As the walls of the hive were transformed, austere to wild delight

The fearful bees, softened by awe, soon abandoned all their fright

For the bees had discovered the joy, of creating with no expectation

The hive thrummed and hummed to a different vibe, a steady buzz of relaxation

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9 thoughts on “Busy Bee

    • Thanks lovely. When I write a poem about an animal or insect it always puts it close to my heart and I find myself noticing them wherever I go. Haven’t seen an ostrich yet though!


  1. Pingback: To bee or not to bee: cohabiting with bumble bees | Rae Cod’s Writing

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