a busy summer,
i see a bee
resting on the edge of my
coffee cup
in the back yard,
fanning himself
with his wing.
he's tired.
he's been flying about
all summer
and pollinating,
making honey,
since spring.
i reach over for my cup,
but he doesn't
even have
the energy for one
final sting.
he sits there and let's
out a sigh before
sliding over so that i
can take a sip
of my drink.
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