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.
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,
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,
Tonight she is where she belongs.
The Imagination knows no limits.
Sometimes it has a mind of its own.
It takes me to unseen places
and brings to life fantasies
that have never seen the light of day.
The Imagination is soft and wild.
It comes from a place deep inside
and longs to be expressed.
It is unconcerned about money, chores,
Earning a living or maintaining a home.
It is desire even unknown to me
Until it leaps out onto the page.
My hands moving swiftly
Making marks on the pristine paper.
It is in my child’s mind
As she creates stories, conflict, and magic
Recreating a story or a movie
to her understanding.
The Imagination is not looking to adhere
to standards of what is good or acceptable.
There is no grade-point average to attain.
The Imagination thrives on space to express
and room to grow.
its edges unending
and terrain always an adventure
awaiting to be expressed.