I've just removed a dying bee from my house.

Last journey

Bees are as scarce as volunteers,
One less is with me now,
Lying listless on a window sill,
Pulsating abdomen, broken wings,
Legs rowing on the spot.
A bee out of air is like
A fish out of water,
It doesn't belong, doesn't belong.

After breakfast I'll put it outside
On a bed of summer flowers,
In keeping with its memory.
That reminds me, I had
A friend who crawled away
From hospital so she could
Die where she belonged.
Funny, she loved sweet things
When she was alive.

Chris Fernie, 2009

Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 408 times
Written on 2009-06-18 at 10:38

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melanie sue
This brought tears. My brother did the same thing as your friend.
Still, I love this somber poem for the sweet memories it also brought back. It also reveals the compassion in your character....a very wonderful gift, which also seems to be getting as scarce as the bees.....

Rob Graber
A wonderfully crafted piece. The end reminds me of a favorite line, from Richard Wilbur's "Ceremony": "How much we are the woods we wander in."

very touching. Strangely, I found a bumble bee this morning, all in extremis on the patio. I put her in a matchbox with a blob of honey. Her tongue came out and sucked some up, she warmed up and flew away. The death of any bee is a tragedy these days. Sorry about the death of your friend.