The plight of the humble bee.

Occasionally it comes to me,

when gazing out the window.

It could be nice to be a bee,

to buzz about, so wild and free,

and go, where ever bees go.

Occasionally. It comes to me.

They have, it's said marvellous knees.

Could that be why these dreams flow?

It could be nice. To be a bee.

Though no one seems to hear their plea,

while busy cities stretch and grow.

Occasionally, it comes to me.

There is no room left for the tree.

Farms need land so flowers we mow.

It could be nice to be a bee.

But when the scent of sweet pea

drifts past, as summer breeze blows,

occasionally, it comes to me.

It could be nice. To be a bee.

Author's Note

This was easier to find a story. Whether that's because I'm in the flow or because it's longer I don't know.