And you are scolded black..
and blue..from there view..
and they crush your smile?
and they make you feel like..
you have to look away in shame..
when going in...and out of sun..
Seeing you so hot and blind...
When is what you run out to..
Where is how you fall into...
Those nights of troubled sleep..
and your mind gone now lost...
and the sun inside a bee hive..
and all we do is run around..
Looking for more honey...
and the bee inside is busy so.......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Telling, pointed as well, some Bee's get their pollen from lilacs, and make wonderful honey, While other Bee's only sip poison oak, and their honey is vile. gotta give ya a 10