What is it with the bee and me?
Watchful eyes at the Magnolia tree
Take in the bloom full from trunk
To branch and on to circled crown.
Ah, but see the bee and all the other
Drinking pals, as they bounce, bumble
and buzz through the afternoon? I yearn
To drowse where quiet rumble of tiny insects
Enfolds me in the rhythm of this warm cocoon.
. . .with apology to Emily Dickinson, the master, who never stretched a rhyme.