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

GHP-3268Withstands until the sweet assault, Their chivalry consumes, While he, victorious, tilts away, To vanquish other blooms. GHP-3277

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!

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All photography by Glenn Hall Photography

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