Honey Bee
Soft golden brown, so plain to see,
A solitary honeybee
Busy buzzing from bloom to bloom
No more bees though plenty of room.
Fireflies seem fewer anymore
Where thousands glowed in days of yore.
Passenger pigeons once filled skies
But ladies’ plumes brought their demise.
Stars still twinkle but seem less bright;
Driven dimmer by city light.
More children are alone at night
As deadbeat fathers take to flight.
Farms pass to graders and backhoes.
Concrete canyons grow row on row.
Thus is paid the price of progress:
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