“We must save him,”
my daughter cries
and points down to reveal
a pudgy bumble bee
nestled in the tall grass
weakened from servitude
orange pollen speckling
its fluffy amber coat
my son sprints back
to the house to retrieve
the simple elixir
and the girl stands guard
serious in her station
when he returns
some sugar and water
is humbly offered
served in a tablespoon
with wide-eyed reverence
we form a protective circle
on the ground
and wait
observing patiently
as our ward revives
hums a hymn of thanks
and then
flies
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