Bees, by an enemy of Joyce Kilmer

Bees

BY AN ENEMY OF  JOYCE KILMER

I think that I shall never see

A bug lovely as a bee.

A bee whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the flower's  sweet flowing breast;

A bee that looks at God all day,

And lifts his hairy arms to pray;

A bee that may in Summer wear

A nest of pollen in her hair;

Upon whose bosom nectar has lain;

While  busily buzzing my orange grove terrain

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a bee.

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