Without Bees

by Marjorie Sadin

The stars rain,
They pollinate too.
Bees also,
One stung me as a child.

When Momma died, the stars cried.
I never expected her to die,
stung.

Now the stars hardly rain anymore,
And children grow up without bees,
and can’t be hurt.


Copyright © 2015 by Marjorie Sadin

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