The Bee Box
This is a poem I read when I was in the 9th grade or so. Eons ago, it seems. The original source no longer exists. But I did save the poet's name. I shall publish this on my blog, because this poem deserves to never be lost.
In this small box, my love,
you'll not find a ring,
but instead, a brave, little bee.
He'll be dead by morn, having given his life
defending his flowers against me.
I felt his sting
while picking the small, purple pansies
growing wild along the roadside,
in hopes of an afternoon bouquet for you.
And I grieved the sting,
more for him than me,
knowing full well the price he paid
for my small pain.
And I allowed him his victory,
leaving his flowers as a memory,
and brought you instead
this brave, little bee,
who proves there is love
even in the smallest
-- Lowell Parker