Saturday, July 18, 2015

Humble

Humble

In the purple morning rising
  as we start our day of work
We greet a dozen sun portals
 topping tall green flower stalks,
Behind the petals from suns’ beams,
  a bee’s crawled in, and dreams,
Rests the cold and torpid Bumble
  numb at rest in his camp bed
The cool weather of evening
  has yet to leave his head

‘Dare you to pet it,’

Do not pet him on the wings
 for he’ll not like that kind of thing,
And don’t touch him on his stinger
 although he’s cool don’t risk your finger,
See there the hair upon his back,
 in that short golden hair, right there,
Just point out your index finger
 touch him gently and with care,

‘It feels like velvet, warm sunny velvet,’

With that the drowsy bumble
 waived a lazy flailing leg
As if to press the snooze bar
 on this digital clock, he begged,
Yet Bumbles are diurnal too,
 once he’s warmed up he’s chores to do,
So up the Bumble hummed away,
  and we began our working day


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