Bees

Rooms of perfect octagons made
They build a place to work and live.
The hive they signal with flight complex,
Where the quilted fields of flowers lie,
Then as one to that place they fly,
And with their nectar gently stolen
Home to the hive they make their way
To practice there that ancient alchemy
Thus bringing forth their liquid gold
Leaving the blossoms with fruit to bear
Upon the advent of some Fall day.
And here in lies a mystery great:
Naught was taught, or even learned
But rather instilled by an art Devine,
Which is beyond the grasp of yours or mine!

(11400052)   Copyright © 04/09/2008 Camp Huntington