The Flower And The Bee Poem by Christopher Ryan

In meadows every afternoon,
About the time for tea,
The flowers listen to the tune
Sung by the bumblebee.

It sings them songs of other mates
That wait across the field,
Looking for potential dates
To make their pollen sealed.

It sings of joy and happiness,
Of love to make one sigh,
And all that rubbish sappiness
That makes the young girls cry.

In one such place, at one such time,
In one such reverie,
A flower listened to the rhyme
Of passing bumblebee.

“Hey ho! ” the bee called from the sky,
“You look the perfect match!
Such a blossom lies nearby,
Just waiting for the catch:

“Of all the flowers, she’s the gem,
The fairest of the fair!
In color, she’s a diadem
That makes the eye ensnare.”

To this, the flower gave reply,
But kept his manner cool:
“Of beauty, friend, what care have I?
I have no eyes, you fool.”

“Of course, of course, ” the bee did shrug,
“But here is something too:
Her petals are so smooth and snug,
They’d cuddle fine with you! ”

“Again, my friend, you miss the mark, ”
The bloom spoke in return,
“For though you may claim such remark,
Her touch I can’t discern.”

“Alas, ” the foolish bee did say,
“I’m certain you are right.
But can’t you hear her sing this day,
Her voice as pure as light? ”

The bloom: “I hear the droning hum
Of brainless bumblebees.”
(For flowers, true, are mute and dumb
And sing but as the trees.)

At this, the bee seemed lost for speech
And hummed awhile in thought,
At last he said, “I do beseech,
Please listen to this plot:

“Your age is nearing to that time
At which your stalk is stooped –
Your nectar’s colored lemon-lime,
Your petals are now drooped –

“Tell me, if you will not mate
Where will your lineage fall?
I offer chance to germinate,
Grow children, proud and tall! ”

“What choice is that – to bring forth fruit? ”
The flower gave reply,
“To watch them eaten by a brute,
Be baked into a pie?

“All fruit share such a tragic fate,
To feed a hungry beast –
Why should I raise them for the plate,
To sweeten up a feast? ”

The bee was saddened at these words,
For troubling was their fate.
(For in all truth, the bees and birds
Know only how to mate.)

“Sir bumblebee, ” the flower said,
“Please do not think me cold.
But in all truth, my wife is dead,
And I am getting old.

“So let me give you some advice
To help you in your quest:
Beauty is in some ways nice,
And males must fill their nest,

“But in the end, what really counts
In finding love that’s real
Is never what your eyes announce
Or what your senses feel.

“Find the one whose heart is pure,
Whose every act is wise,
And ask her if your love could cure
The sadness in her eyes.

“Delight her and her heart endear,
But do not be too proud –
A woman does not care to hear
A pleaser of the crowd.

“Be soft and tender in your thought,
And never draw your sword:
Her happiness is all you’ve sought,
Her kisses your reward.

“But over all, throughout your life,
Remember what I say:
When you have found a worthy wife,
No flowers send her way! ”