I'd like not to
Atrophy;
So growth seems best
A collective venture...
That being said, please
Keep safe the flowers and the bees.
When the die they rot,
and with no sweet smell to taunt
the bees will want not
A thing to do with their pollination partners,
and having no nectar,
will flee the scene.
Finding sunshine skies and flowers that bend,
bowing to meet their arrival,
All black jackets forced to de-coat at the door,
With pentagon walls and eyes seeing fives,
no wonder the flowers now seem so strange.
Where have their stars gone?
The gleam in their eyes?
Did the flower run off to be with the skies?
Did the moon much entice
the blossoms virtue and vice
and make her into something she's not?
All her rot for naught!
Growing for fruitless yield
With seed coat as shield,
nay, methinks she'll fly to different ground.