About A Bee (Poetry)

A bee flew in my room one day
and settled on my arm.
It said in clear and friendly tones
it did not mean me harm.

I sat quite still — transfixed — and watched
it crawl up to my ear
that buzzing voice a whisper now
so no one else might hear.

It told me things — this tiny bee
and shared his prophesy
of how the natural world would die
because of fools — like me —

who spread their poisons in the air —
spray toxins all around —
choke and kill small flying things —
whatever ‘pests’ are found.

I listened while he said his piece
quite saddened when he flew
out my window once again
and off into the blue.

He left me with a weight of guilt
that plagued me deep inside
faced me with a future grim
with no place safe to hide.

My conscience churned — I fretted long
into each sleepless night.
What could I do (a fool like me)
but write ... and write ... and write?

I wrote a letter to the Times
I penned an angry sonnet
posted articles online —
the bee loud in my bonnet!

I do the only thing I can
I summon words because
there’s nothing else that helps to soothe
this constant — blaming — buzzzzzzzzzz