Bee in the Snow

Con Chapman has posted a poem about a bee in the snow, on his blog here.

You would expect a hive of honeybees to be warm and cozy in the winter, with the bees staying in, but the reality, as is so often the case with Nature, is harsher.

If you’ve visited The Hive, you know what I mean.

You’ve got the Queen ruling the roost (if we think of bees as chickens and the queen bee as a rooster), surrounded by her loutish drones (if we think of male bees as Marlon Brandos in wife-beaters).

The Queen’s worker-bee sisters are no more than slaves (if we think of them as the pyramid builders in The Ten Commandments).

Is it any wonder that the occasional worker-bee kicks over the traces and leaves the hive (if we think of bees as mules)?

Or perhaps she left the hive in search of a drone of her own, or worse, was caught red-handed in the hive with one of the Queen’s drones (if we think of bees as having hands).

Perhaps she was an evolved snow-bee out searching for the first crocus (if we think of mutant bees as Homo Sapiens in a world of Neanderthals.)

Did I mention that the bee in the snow was not smiling (if bees had lips, so forth).

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