The Rose I Let Bee

O, sweet and fair is the red, red rose

That nods to me when the soft wind blows;

The world is brighter for its presence,

The air is sweeter for its essence.

And fain would I pluck it from its stem

And wear it in place of a costly gem.

But no, I will stay my too eager hand

And leave it to brighten and gladden the land.

For, in its fair center what do I see

But a big buzzing brute of a black bumble bee.

Dec. 16, ‘91