A little flower called to me.
I knelt down in the dirt to see.
It lifted up a yellow face
That held a slender little bee.
I leaned too quickly in my haste—
The bee was gone without a trace.
I grabbed a leaf and shook its hand,
A green and soft and downy grace.
I had to know its name. I fanned
The pages of my guidebook, scanned
A fashion show of rayon blends,
A family album of a clan.
The bee came humming back just then;
The flower breathed a gentle scent;
I could not name it in the end,
So we just called each other “Friend.”