• The bumblebees buzzed busily about,
    Buzzing by in the breeze,
    Beautifully black and yellow balanced,
    But behind them lays a bitter point.

    The wind whistles with a weary sound,
    Winding around the withering roses
    And the white mountains wide,
    Without whispering to the bees.

    Little bees don't listen
    To the light laughter of the air.
    They lack emotion a little
    Unlike the laughing wind.

    And the air always attempts
    To alert the bees,
    But alas the bees are aloof
    To all thought of anything.