Prompted by an experiment from Please Add to this List, my daughter and I composed the following poem “from the perspective of a disjointed bee.”
The Bumble/bee
a story about a bee who lost her bumble but not herself.
The sisters three
have lost their bee.
While flying free
it hit a tree
then took a tumble
and lost its bumble.
What can they do?
They could find some glue.
Crush it with a shoe?
The bee laments:
oh woe is me,
who, flying free,
hit that big tree,
and lost my bee
that is, the bumble
that makes me rumble
and keeps me humble.
Once I fell
I could tell
all was not well
the world was not right
day turned into night.
But, despite my fright
,
I look in the tree
where I hope to see
the bumble for me,
the disjointed bee.
When I took that bad tumble
and lost my poor bumble
I started to mumble,
What am I to do or to be?
Suppose I fly free?
But with no bumble, am I a bee?
Without that fine bumble, am I bee?
Am I flea?
Am I still me?
Oh, how can this be?
Wait,
why look this way?
Oh, you’ve found it. I say!
The oldest sister confidently responds:
I know what to do
just bring me some glue
.
We’ll fix it up quick
.
This should do the trick!
The bee has some doubts:
Will I ever be the same
with this bumble that’s lame?
Can I be called by my name?
The middle sister chimes in:
Don’t worry, dear bee
.
Glue worked on my knee!
The youngest adds:
Well, there’s option two:
crush with a shoe!
Wait! What? Please!
I can swing through the trees.
I don’t care if I stumble
and I won’t miss the rumble.
Just let me be free
as the bumble-less bee!
Fine, fine, the sisters relented
.
And 2 of them meant it.
But the third she did not
and out like a shot
her arm brandished a shoe
and quickly it flew
right at the bee
who was able to flee
because having no bumble
and being liable to fumble
doesn’t matter when you still have your wings.