I watched the little Bee hide in the open.

Funny stories were told by her empty gaze.

The little voices called her name often.

On the special days they stared at her amaze.

Those days the little Bee would stutter.

It's just so hard to reach the sunny places.

She'll giggle and say life's a ******.

But the voices pursued, her joy it chases.

She slipped and couldn't reach the light.

The poor Bee faded even her shadow lies

People hate the unusual isn't it a plight?

A world of fools, her being they denies.

Once, I saw the Bee laugh without bother.
It was the day she called on a  monster.