a story about a bee who lost her bumble but not herself
We start this sad tale
at the site of a fail
where a bumbling bee
runs into a tree
and discovers that she
has lost her bumble.
Scene: The woods. Three sisters walk through the woods, searching for their pet bee.
The sisters three
have lost their bee.
While flying free
she hit a tree
then took a tumble
and lost her bumble.
What can they do?
Find some glue?
Crush her 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 rumble
and being liable to fumble
doesn’t matter when you still have your wings.
The narrator reflects:
What is a bumble to a bee?
A good question to ask,
but no easy task
to answer.
We might take a look
in a science textbook:
Where is the bumble of a bee?
In part one, two or three?
In the abdomen? the thorax? the head?
No. To answer, search elsewhere instead.
For the bumble does not live in one part,
although it spends lots of time in the heart.
The bumble is something too great,
to ever be easy to state.
To the bumble-less bee,
what was lost in that tree
is what makes a me me:
the bee-ness of the bee.
When she thought it was gone
something felt wrong
and it wasn’t too long
before she started to wonder
how big was this blunder,
and this thought, it stunned her.
Who am I? she asked herself.
But this question was lost
when the shoe it was tossed
and the bee felt the need
to pick up some speed.
As she flew free of the threat
she started to get
that her bumble was still there
so no need for despair.
But why tell you this story
where no parts were too gory
and there was no glory?
To share something true
that might just help you:
Your me may change form
and it may stray from the norm
but it never leaves you.