-Laurie Benson 2019

I won't see you now
that the snow has come,
and all the flowers
are buried deep
and decayed.  They
will return, seeds
germinating through
winter's cold, waiting
for warmth and the
sun to change angles.
Then you can find
them, dance for
them, live...because
of them.

You will return too, and
are waiting to do so
now, huddled together
for warmth in your
hive.  You've stored
such sweet honey
for winter, I even had
some in my tea
this morning.  Some
for you, some
for me, little bee.

Under the microscope
I saw the small
tears in your wings.
I picked them up
gently to place
them on the chart
and saw that you
had flown so many
miles with those
lacy cloaks that
they were worn out.

Unable to carry
the load any more,
you flew that last day
to the hive, left off
the pollen, gave
back the nectar and
died.  Your sisters
carried you out.
Those wings weren't
worn out, they were
well worn-
the difference is subtle
but profound.

Journal Of Experimental Biology
Photo Credit and article