Black Bumble, Tumble Bee

... on the front porch
When first i noticed him,
On his side, curled up
And moist from dew
And dressed in black
With startlingly yellow,
A patch across his upper back.

Dead,
I thought.

But, oh how intricate
And beautiful his design,
And as i pushed him
Onto a scrap of paper,
He appeared to move a bit
And alas, continued on
His crawling into the cold,
Out from the cold
And into the forever.

Inside, i placed him on the desk,
And he pulled himself along,
And contrasting against the white blotter,
He reached the edge
An hour's journey later,
And rested in eternity,

As thousands of flowers and vines
That he had pollinated
In his Summer weavings,
Now waved goodbye and rippled
In November's breeze, awaiting their turn
To slip into early Fall's seductress
Of gentle frost and freeze.

What a sensitive man, you say?
Nay! Bullpuck! Bullpuck!
Let me slap shot this across your bow:
We were both warriors of the Summer
In a manner you'll never know how!

So brace yourself, my lad
And never smirk
The least bit spot of life,

And as the world and time
Both churn you along,
Tip your hat to the universe
And choose a god or not,

But never flout creation's rhyme
Nor the rhythm of the seasons
Lest you find

They've passed you bye,

Turned and left you out.