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.