They seem so lazy,
As if aimlessly wandering.
In reality,
They are searching.
For the blooms,
With the power to save their family.
And in a single breath,
They would sacrifice themselves.
For the well-being of the hive,
But never a single flower.
Always they scheme,
Plotting to find the best blossoms.
The best sustenance,
To give life to the hive that raised each bee.
But however beautiful and sweet,
The bees will never sacrifice themselves for a flower.
And I wonder,
As they sting me and I cry out at my pain and their deaths.
I wonder if perhaps,
The birds and the bees aren't too different at all.