Sharp and surprising, that stinger.
The bee is gone before the pain sets in.
Rubbing my hand, there’s nothing to see
But a red mark and inflamed skin.
Where did it come from?
The villain is gone now, not a scent in the air.
I wonder about pain. I wonder about beauty.
I wonder about flowers and bees and perfect harmony.
There is beauty all around.
Look at that butterfly by the flower.
There is pain all around.
Look at the bruise on my hand.
Memories are like this.
A shock to the system from out of the blue.
One moment a smile. One memory a tear.
Dangerous hives bring sweet honey.
Life will bring you pleasure and pain.
There is no day without night, no spring without rain.
And joy can bring a powerful sting.
Even the most beautiful of days have bruises.