Honeybee

I flutter, I mutter, I dance in the wind,

I sputter, I discover, and I am disciplined;

Cometh the spring, cometh the flowers,

All hail, here I come to devour;

So many colours, so many smells,

I bumble, I swing, I am under spells;

My work is sacred, my work is assidious,

I do it for world, and sap on residuous;

Cometh the winter, I bid adieu to colours,

I hunker, I shudder with the dark wintry clouds;

Now I wait for the warm rays of April sun to guide this humble filigree,

To conquer, to love, and be honeybee.