The river knows its way home The bee knows how to make honey As I walk towards the river, a bee stung my arm Instantly, I wanted to give the bee his sting back I wanted to take back every angry word I had spoken and shoot them into space Most of all, I want to return the bee sting Unfortunately, there’s no winding life back I keep the bees sting in a box to remind me that life is fragile For some it can be too short like the bee that stung me…
A poem that made me think about the short lives of bees. Their sting costs them their lives. True of people sometimes too, though many can just keep on stinging. I think I prefer bees.
Right? I used to think it was horrid that the bees who have stung me gave their lives for that was their lot. Me? The first sting, I suffered an allergic reaction requiring a doctor to remedy. The next? I merely applied lavender oil to the sting, and I was fine. I carried on and the bees because compost.
It is sad about bees, yet wasps can sting you again and again (I’ve been on the receiving end). Hubby and I try to help the tired bees we see, but sometimes they are too exhausted and close to their expiry time. Our back lawn is pocked with tiny craters for ground bees, but they are all empty as our soil is clay based, so doesn’t drain well.
Beautiful compassionate poem, I doubt if I would have been so forgiving.
Tragedy for bees, the sting is barbed and efficient for insect to insect defence however this barb will get caught in the thicker skin of some animals, mammals being the classic example.
Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes 
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