Busy as can be, busy as the life of a honeybee.

Busy, you see, is the better way to be;

To keep the hive alive

And free from harming its harmony.

Nimble Thimble, the humble bee, was married to Grumble Rumble, the bigger bee.

Nimble Thimble flew with grace and ease,

Weaving and gliding like a garden breeze.

Bigger than three bees, was he, yet Grumble Rumble the bigger bee might fumble, or tumble, or trip on his wings, so this bee so big, flew so little.

Yet Grumble Rumble could hum, and other bees liked to hear his buzz.

Bonny Bee wore a bonnet of leaves.

How pretty she looked with her hat all aflutter; like a small bush in flight, or a miniature mad-hatter.

Sweet Pea, the honeybee, wore a yellow jacket that all could see was a brighter color yellow than her sister bees.

Sweet Pea swept by, saying, “No one can deny how spry look I in this brightest yellow.”

A storm in the swarm blew like breezes of bees as the sister bees suffered such stabbing envies.

The sound of the hive could not be heard, as bees blew roaring raspberries when Sweet Pea flew past.

All five eyes of each bee showed such surprise as they surmised the scope of the sting evoked by pride and jealousy.

Grover Clover was a clever bee.

Grover Clover offered advice for being nice.

Beware of envy and strife, don’t brag or boast.

Don’t try to be the most.

A hive needs peace and sympathy to form an apian symphony.

“Oh, no,” came a murmuring mumble from Grumble Rumble, the bigger bee.

“It is not for we to be better or worse than other bees.

Don’t we each have a place in the whole of the hive,” he hummed?

But the hive was alive with a clackety racket over the brightest yellow jacket.

Cacophony, disharmony, discordancy abounding; a disturbance most astounding.

The day was gray, the sun away, no play from they, no work today.

Flowers wilting, petals tilting, bees feeling sticky over souring honey.

No one wished to disturb the Queen Maureen, the Serene, the Ever-Calm of the honeycomb. Yet the hive made a sound like a hundred yellow jackets zipping, which woke the Queen.

The buzz in the hive was that the Queen so Serene had failed to keep calm the honeycomb.

Queen Maureen, the Serene, the Ever-Calm of the honeycomb felt stung by those barbed remarks; she felt abused, and she was not amused.

“This, you see, is the way it should be,” announced Queen Maureen, the Serene, the Ever-Calm of the honeycomb.

“Each bee is a special bee, in a different way for every bee.

Unity of the hive can thrive

When each is the best bee they can be,

And they strive for the harmony of the whole of we.”

Now Grumble Rumble, the bigger bee, mumbled out in apian glee.

“Ho, ho, and hum, hum; that is the way we should behave in the beehive.”

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The Moral of the Story

No bee can be the best bee; as every bee belongs beside the other bees. The work of the bees is the honey on our bread, the fertilizing of flowers, the refreshing of fields.

For flowers and trees, for fields and groves, the humming of bees is the bringing of blessings, the bringing of pollen, the lacing of links that tie these thankful things.

I alone, am not alone, you should see; you cannot be just one when you stand beneath the sun, where everyone alive is a member of the hive that is the whole earth.