Where Bumbles Bounce

I've seen the flight of black and gold, their little fuzzy bodies wing from lace cap blossoms where they fold - one final fling for pollen kings. One final harvest for the queen and babes the season's end will lose when Autumn's sting of frosty wean the death of both, no fate to choose. Yet through the teeth of winter's chill, within the nest some chubby stirs reveal the faith in nature's will and quells the voice of those demurred. Once more the cycle starts again, the gift of life's unbroken chain.