Bees offer honey far more readily than they sting, You say as we watch Their fuzzy bodies flit from flower to flower In the same clover. _Trifolium repens._ They’re not native though nothing in our yard is. The bees don’t care, The same way we extend our soft skinned arms Through the blackberry thickets With the juice of our labors to show, When we come back out. I get older, my skin’s not so soft, Not so smooth. But the bees will still nap In the bindweed (_Convolvulus arvensis_), butts up Sprinkled with the pollens of their labors.