Roses entwine.
Are they mine
Or thine?
The bee
Will make free
With the flower
For the lifetime of an hour.
Sting
Then, on his swift wing
Flit to an as yet, uncried
Plaything.

O see how man does sow
The seed
To feed
His need
(Although
He may not fertilise).

She does not protest but her eyes
Say
“I would prefer
That there were
Another way.
Yet
The bee will have his honey
And I my money
And when day
Is over, we may
Both regret”.