The black bumble bee
Is building a home.
On the old dead tree,
By herself, all alone.
The round door so perfect,
Leads into her den.
Where she'll raise her offspring,
And then start again.
On the yellow blossoms,
Of esperanza she'll dine.
Then continue her work,
Buzzing just fine.
She continues her work,
With infinite glee.
We should all be as industrious,
As the black bumble bee.
3/20/05 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I wish I was as care free as the bumble bee :) x