The singing bee comes like a little ship,
And docks beside a rose for cargoed wine,
Its gossamer paddles spinning in the air
A little plane upon the flower vine.
It anchors in the bell upon its quest,
And lulls its motor in the crimson bower,
Then with its honey glides on to the west,
A tiny airplane stealing off a flower. Its paddles fan the wind in silver singing,
A boom of music down the garden dells;
The honey monoplane with motors ringing,
Its gauze propellers purring like soft bells;
And so it dips and soars and dives and noses,
A little ship among the summer roses.