A poor wingless bee in dire torment
Sat brooding beneath the lemon bower:
"How shall I ever know the rose's scent,
And sample the sweet nectar of her flower?"

"And what value do you place on these?"
Asked a wise old bee perched on a stone;
Suddenly there appeared a swarm of bees,
Eager to hear the wisdom of the drone

Cried the wingless bee: "My days are drear,
Longing for the rose's scented dew;
Without wings how can I hope to draw near?
How I thirst for her . . . if only she knew!"

"Climb, my lad," advised the wise old bee.
"Brave the stinging thorns and twisted vine.
Only through courage and tenacity
Will you savor the bliss of her sweet wine"

O, what angst now stirred within the bee
As he scaled that stem toward the sublime!
But what delicious hospitality
Awaited him . . . because he dared to climb!