In the meadow’s hush, a wild bee hums,
her wings are lanterns, her freedom drums.
She drinks from blossoms, dances with air,
no master’s hand, no burden to bear.
She builds no prison, she owes no debt,
Her honey is hers, her flight firmly set.
Each dawn is a canvas, each dusk a song;
Her life is brief, but wholly her own.
In the hive, the story bends and breaks,
rows of bodies for profit’s sake.
Smoke rolls in, a choking disguise,
to steal their labour, to close their eyes.
The queen is clipped, her kingdom confined,
Her wings betrayed by human design.
Honey jars gleam, but the cost is clear—
a sweetness brewed in another’s fear.
Two lives, one creature, divided by hands:
One roams the wild, one serves demands.
And so I ask, as truth cuts through –
If you were a bee, what would you choose?
Published and written by Rosemary R Shaw. Copywrite 2025
