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: We may have more by having less.