WHERE THE BEES COME HOME TO PLAY:

She runs through soft fields of wild flowers,

Where lavender & poppies dance in breeze,

Tiptoeing through the sun-dappled gardens,

Where old fountains sing their favourite tunes,

And when I asked her, “Why go to all these places?”

She said, “It´s where the bees come home to play”.

 

She roams through bluebell woods & green forests,

Where cool clear streams trickle over ancient stones,

She wanders silently ambling, down old country lanes,

Where winds whisper, trees smile & raindrops weep,

And when I asked her, “Why go to all these places?”

She said, “It´s where the bees come home to play”.

 

She only tripped & traipsed within life´s pretty places,

To where the secrets of birds & beasts were duly kept,

To the places where butterflies & dragonflies waltzed,

To the places where she knew her real friends stayed,

And when I asked her, “Why go to all these places?”

She said, “It´s where the bees come home to play.”