The bee flies south
The bird flies north
Both of them are heading down
A long collision course.
The beard wields a beak,
And the bee, its trusty stinger
But with no audience above
Who’s to decide the winner?
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
The bee flies south
The bird flies north
Both of them are heading down
A long collision course.
The beard wields a beak,
And the bee, its trusty stinger
But with no audience above
Who’s to decide the winner?