The honeybee upon the rose
Does flit and fly from flower to flower.
He never thinks of what he does
Nor of the blooms he's left behind.
Nor thinks he of nectar spilled
Or of petals drooping in despair
Once he's left each rose at will
And flown on to another's care.
But if that bee should come near me
And the petals I keep safely hid,
I'll open my rose to all, you'll see
And kindly invite the insect in.
And once he's supped on nectar fine
And his passion's too heavy for flight
I'll pluck a thorn from 'neath my vine
And plunge it in his philandering hide!
Scribed this 3rd day of November, 1997
