Swarming in with poisoned tips tucked
Nature’s vengeance dancing from
flower to flower,
no matter the color,
or the size,
They are the thieves of each unique
and I wonder,
Do they watch for the tulip to open toward the warmth of the sun?
Do they wait for a rose to display her heart proudly?
Do they time each moment precisely
The light of the sun is unconditional;
food for the flowers,
heat for the thieves,
and on those magical days,
when I am the Bells of Ireland,
hungry for the warmth of my Sun,
they swarm in and attack!