‘Bye Bees




I live in a third-floor London flat, with a little balcony. I’m ninety and crippled, so I don’t get out very much. On the balcony I grow flowers in pots, but I noticed no bees were coming these last few years. So I wrote away for a lobelia plant, and it arrived in a huge box with its own pot. Once on the balcony it thrived and grew buds, and as they opened I saw bees returning to the orange-coloured blossoms. This was the inspiration for my poem.

I looked for bees on the Buddleia,
I searched the roses in vain,
I prayed we might have some sunshine,
And was answered with more pelting rain.

I looked for bees in the lupins
And searched; but the borders were bare.
My garden looked lonely, though blooming,
There wasn’t a buzz in the air.

We’ve swept all the bees from the planet
By spraying our gardens and fields.
We thought we were being so clever
Increasing each acre crop yields.

But in truth ourselves are destroying,
We’ve poisoned ourselves on the way.
The bees knew it was time to desert us
And now they live far far away.

The pesticide fields were just poison,
To our crops and ourselves and the bees,
So they left with their queens and their honey,
And who were we trying to please?

We forgot all about the Bumble,
How we needed him in our lives,
They knew they were not wanted,
Now we know that – we shall not survive.

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