THE BEE SEEKER
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My poem is a metaphor.
Beneath the dark skies,
when life is fast asleep,
I spotted a beautiful rose,
rocking her bees to sleep.
As morning spews her dew,
and the stars begin to dim,
the roses have all opened,
there's buzzing from within.
Now it's time for breakfast,
the boys are hungry fellows,
they leave their bed of roses,
to spread their dust of yellow.
Whenever I see a bee,
I'll appreciate him more,
for if a rose can keep him,
he's someone to adore.
Copyright © Vickie Hurtt - Thayer | Year Posted 2024
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