What is that buzzing I hear coming 'round?
Is it my inner ear manufacturing a sound?
Is it the coming of some mighty peril?
The buzz saw of death anointed with oil?
It is only a bumblebee, the last of his kind.
Flying above me, with what's on his mind.
I fear his sting as he swoops down so very low,
but he only comes in close and comes in very slow.
Looks at me with mournful compound eyes,
I've never seen a bee of his massive size.
He seems to be pleading for me to do,
the right thing, now that he is nearly through.
Makes me regret those times in my stupid youth,
when I did what I thought was good, but really uncouth.
I shot his ancestors down with my BB gun,
I did it for sport and I did it for fun.
To me they were pests under my back door steps,
but now I regret what I did to our neighbors, our guests.
For the red clover needs the long tongue of the bumblebee,
to pollinate its sweet fragrant flower we so often see.
Covering wild fields and farmers' hay crops,
for the sweet smelling hay that cows think is tops.
So I waved goodbye to that last bumblebee,
regretting that we didn't learn from using DDT.
Like the old Indian who stood with a tear in his eye,
I hung my head low and started to cry.
For what have we done to our land, our water and sky,
who are we to determine what is to live and what is to die?
All I know is that I see the bumblebee down,
and I face the future without a smile, but a frown.
Buff-tailed Bumblebee – Bombus terrestris
Ignorance is bliss. We’ve taken