Last Moments - Poem by Richard George
I feel sorry for bumblebees.
They don't make honey.
They're the fat churls,
the patronized teddy bears.
We could do without them.
One's grounded. I want to help
it up. But it's fading.
It lifts a leg as though to say
'Leave me alone'.
I can see its eye:
it's frightened, I can see fear
in the black eye of a bumblebee.
It is telling me 'Let me go.
My time has come'.
In crystal evening silence
I respect its wishes.
when I am dying,
half way to the ocean where we were before we were,
do not drag me back.
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