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
 of things.

-- Lowell Parker


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