Said the bee to the blossom, "Didst thou mark thy lonely days Before my tender feet Lit upon thy lovely face?"
Said the blossom to the bee, "No, not me. I did but wait - And in the truest truth, I waited not for thee."
Cried the bee to the blossom, "Wherefore were thy waiting Worth the aching hours If not for bees' promise to flowers?"
Soothingly the blossom whispered, "No promise was ever held for me, Nor made to me by thee. Thy respite Is but perchance from the aching of thy feet,"
At this the bee, indignant, buzzed; But blossom's discourse continued thus: "No, never did I wait for thee, To close my petals against all but one bee Should be the death of my race. Still may it be said, I waited for he Who bore thy thought, and thy grace; May it be said I waited for whomever should land, Knowing thus that it must be thee."