The rose and the Bee

I am a lovely red rose in an English Garden, and it is a fine spring day. A happy bee buzzes by, and drains my nectar, to bring to the queen of the hive. He nurtures me, and I can not help but beg for more. I grow healthy and strong, rising towards the sun, my stem a bright, lush, emerald green, and my petals blood red. I have become the loveliest of all flowers in the garden, and your hive is filled with satisfied bees and vast quantities of honey. We are both filled with joy, and the spring of our relationship seems like forever and a day.



But the queen of your heart is also the queen of the hive, and the queen of your soul. You obey her orders, and forget me, leaving me in desolation and misery, and without nurture. The queen of the hive is cold and overbearing, like the first blustering gusts of winter. She tears you apart from me, and forbids you to ever see me again. Spring has ended, and the summer of our relationship has begun. We have squabbles and blistering fights, and our relationshp is tested in a blazing oven.



We grow further and further apart, and Autumn has come upon us. My petals brilliance are dimming, and my leaves are crumpling up and dying. You continue to pay homage to your queen, and do not love me, as I love you. You are entranced by her haughtiness and overbearing pride, and she entraps you. Winter is almost upon us.



I long to see you everyday, but you never come to save me, to nurture me, or be there in the best of times, as well as the worst of times. Winter has arrived, and it begins to snow. I wait for you to arrive, but I am naive and innocent, and do not realize that you will never come back to nurture me again me with your smile, your laugh, or your handsome face. I long for you to look at me, and notice me, and love me, like I love you. But, alas, it freezes over in my lovely English Garden, and I shrivel up and die, leaving you behind to please your haughty you desire so much.