The bees meander sweetly, serpentine among the apple blossom,
filling their abdomans with pollen, the royal jelly.
I watch in wonder of their flight. One sting would sacrifice their lives.
They are the same as I. Propelled by nature, I am propelled by love.
My stinger is poised, my soul aloft, my life in peril. For if she recoils, I am lost.
My soul cannot survive the separation. I am a fool to think that I may soar again.
To live among the apple blossom, waiting for another chance to live.