God speaks and we belong to the world of words
As bees distributing meaning unaware of
The extent to which we are fruit ninjas with swords
High held and focused on the nectar's love.
Even though we feel the solitude of daily
Rituals, the work we do in this world
Yells while we remain silent. And we gaily
Envelope our tasks and send out hurled
Planets entirely unknown to us. That's for the best,
Or else we might think the words were ours.
Letting God have what little praise we can invest
Looses us of pride's temptation and pours
Enthusiastically: "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."
New nectar is better than punch drunk memory.
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