Who owns it,
the vegetable race?
the flower?
or the bee that pollinates?
Frankly, it seems too easy
sitting in one place
accruing fruit,
and I am not to blame
that flower power culminates in pain;
or that by the self-same token
every shaken pleasure taken
seems the kind of work in which,
soon or late,
all joys eventuate.
So I choose bees. Somewhat arbitrarily, ok,
but then, I'm probably biased.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem