Jacile Poem by Maymay Marie

There is a working bee in the middle of the garden,
Quietly tending the enormous and varieties greenery green,
Watching and watering them imbued by the vigor within,
Though queue surrounds, yet the heart and mind sing hymn.

The working bee is always at her post,
Smiles is her weapon under the sun and moonlight caress,
Fashion by the Master loving hand,
She is a turret in pile of weeds.

This working bee never says no to the quiries,
Her hands are full, yet soft for carrying more,
Her flights are in a book clearly written,
She talks and works in a soil of dreams.

One day she left the garden, she first cared,
Her family, now, her heart longs to see,
The bridge to her kin must be repaired,
But, still, her hardwork is a necklace, she wears always.