Terrified, the little girl cries
until her grandmother turns wise,
“All God’s creatures want to survive.
I know you love your small garden.
Now watch these workers work magic”
Those stallions with stingers, hover,
tantalizingly tease petals
of the roaring dandelions.
Those golden gals honey’d sunshine,
with fair upturned, xanthous faces.
Not to be outbuzzed, the blush rose,
her loving cup with upraised hands.
“Drink deeply, my...
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