The Bee ~

 

- by Emily Dickinson

Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry


Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.


His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.


His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!

Just Flowers Hiding

To Bee,

or

Not to Bee...

With nothing else to say, 

That's all you'll be hearing from me.

Except...

My photos being a wee bit smaller,

the details are a wee bit smaller, also.

An experiment, I'm not fond of,

but perhaps your cup of tea.

Reminds me of how much detail is actually working in my gardens, but lost

when I view it as a whole.

This Post is Linked to:

My Corner of the World

Saturday's Critters