Gardener at Heart - Book One

Composite Family

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.”

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