Mosquitoes and Honeybees
Mosquitoes and honeybees busily fly,
Each with a purpose its own.
Honey from one in the sweet by and by,
Blood from one bad to the bone.
“What do you do with the blood that you suck?”
Asked the bee fully covered in pollen.
“Well, what do you do with the pollen you pluck?”
The mosquito retorted quite swollen.
“I carry the pollen from pistil to stamen;
Some here and some there make a flower.
Next time when it blooms, I start over again,
But it’s all for my honeycomb tower.”
This, said the bee, was his mission in life,
In orchard and flowers and clover.
“That’s pretty boring,” the mosquito replied,
“It’s the same thing, just over and over.”
“I’ll tell what I do with the blood that I gather
From anyone willing to let me:
I get bigger and bigger and fatter and fatter,
And very few things will prevent me.”
The bee, looking puzzled, he wondered aloud,
“What could prevent you from biting?
Do you not have a way to fend off a crowd,
Or to scare off the one who is swatting?”
The mosquito replied, “Do you not see my head?”
My proboscis is all that I’ve gotten.
By the time I dig in for a sample of blood,
I see not the swat that is swattin’.”
“Well, I’ve got a stinger,” the bee said a-braggin’,
I sting when I really must choose it.”
The mosquito remarked with a smile on his noggin,
“But how many times can you use it?”
“Once, I suppose,” said the bee sadly looking;
For he knew when he stung he would perish.
They realized the plight that each other had coming,
So a friendship they hastened to cherish.
They hovered to hug with a flutter and fumble;
A bite and a sting went askance,
The sanguine mosquito succumbed to the bumble;
The honeybee droned his last dance.