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BEE Stings | Spring in Sydney

60s-beehive-hairdo

It is almost spring
The bees sting incessantly
They zap apart the wounded heart
And prick like friendships torn apart

Their victims are helpless
Their victims are hopeless
They don’t mean anything
They are rather harmless
and they apologise for their inconsistence

But if the blossoms did not flourish
And the garden did not bloom
There’d be no life here to garnish
There’d be no life here to groom

And if the bees did not swarm and
the bees did not sting
There’d be feelings of defiance
In every living thing

Sometimes the bees sting the life right out of me
And for that, I am sorry

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