“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?”
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