Oh that I could be as industrious as thee,
Upon the bloom of this waving thistle.
But I am beside myself with much upon my mind,
As sun’s rays flood all with inexhaustible heat.
May your wings never cease to beat,
As you collect the stuff of life from its bed.
While I sit here slowly thinking,
And drinking long from this cup of mine.
I raise my hand to salute you, oh honey bee,
And wish I had the energy of your wings.