The bees are in it for the hive,
they load their knees and carry the pollen home.
Butterflies are voracious
but work alone.
They light upon their dinner
and feast
with no interest or concern
for the ghostly gardener
who set their table months before.
The planted bulbs are up,
each clump in turn as ordered by the hours of sunlight.
You can almost see the bee.
The buds at the branch tips
are set to explode,
some into flowers first,
some first into leaves.
Once a peach, this stump’s done,
the trunk become new wood for carving or for fire.
Blessed by a working bee.
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