Busy Little Friend

 “The bee is not afraid of me,

 I know the butterfly;

 The pretty people in the woods

 Receive me cordially.

 The brooks laugh louder when I come,

 The breezes madder play.

 Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?

 Wherefore, O summer’s day?”

—Emily Dickinson 

I stood transfixed by quiet industry,

so much movement carried by such 

small wings — my eyes kept losing

you amid the petals and leaves.  

You didn’t seem to mind my intrusion,

focused as you were, freeing 

and lifting pollen for your queen.  

I’m sure I was a curious sight,

stopped-motion in the middle

of a crowded nursery — everyone

out looking for new blooms to plant.

I really wanted to stay longer,

watch for your brothers,

let the day drone on forever,

but the hours hold more tasks for me,

inspired as I am by your example,

my busy little friend.

—C.L. Fisher, May 2020

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