Wolfku Musing 26

The flower, loudly
to the bee: pick me, pick me
So many choices


I am a bee.

Approaching this meadow (following my nose, as they say, and the sweet summer air) suddenly (yes, suddenly) here is a sea of yellow, and they are all sweet. And they speak bee (not kidding).

Me, me, me they sing. Pick me, me, me.

So many flowers, so little time. What is a bee to do?