The honeybee sets out each morning, A sole worker with a craving For the sweet nectar. The hive can only thrive When the collective work together. Her day’s task is at hand And she visits her first flower. A rose. Drunk on its sweet nectar, She is seduced. And the sweet rose is the only flower She will visit on this day’s journey. The rose’s branches entwine and climb up a pole. Up and up. The honeybee has found her bounty, Her fill. And whether conscious or drunk, She has made her way back home At the workday’s end. Who knows the mystery of what Tomorrow’s flower may be. Perhaps a dandelion, An azalea. Tonight she is where she belongs.