The garden is all abuzz, with bees, and butterflies, lightening bugs and ladybugs.
All so very busy dutifully distributing the pollen amongst the flowers.
I thank them more than words can say.
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
~ Emily Dickinson : The Bee (1830)