In a tiny meadow, where the sun always shines,
Lived jolly old Bob, the keeper of thyme.
His garden, so vibrant, flowers, and dew,
And Bob’s special dish was the Bumblebee Stew.
The bumblebees danced in the light of the day,
Buzzing in delight, in their melodious way.
Their wings, they would shimmer, gold and blue,
As they danced for the joy of Bumblebee Stew.
Bob never hurt them, oh, no, not he,
His stew was not made of bumblebees, you see.
He’d dance with them, laugh, sing songs too,
And they’d gift him the honey for Bumblebee Stew.
The honey was golden, sweet, and so fine,
Bob would mix it with thyme and a touch of white wine.
With garden veggies, in a pot it all flew,
Simmered with love, that was Bumblebee Stew.
One day, a dragonfly, grouchy and mean,
Came to the meadow, disturbing the scene.
“I’ve heard,” he sneered, “of your famed honey brew,
I demand a large pot of Bumblebee Stew!”
“Dear dragonfly,” Bob said with a smile,
“My stew takes time, it might take a while.
But if you’d like to help, there’s something you can do,
Help gather the honey for Bumblebee Stew.”
The dragonfly scoffed, “Work, you say?
I’d rather snatch it and fly away.”
So, he scooped up the pot, but away he couldn’t zoom,
For the pot was empty; the stew didn’t bloom.
“Oh, dragonfly,” the bumblebees buzzed,
“Your actions have left us all quite puzzled.
The stew isn’t just honey, thyme, and brew,
It’s the joy and the dance of Bumblebee Stew.”
The dragonfly blinked, feeling quite small,
In the vibrant meadow, he realized it all.
So, he laughed, he danced, he sang songs too,
And that day, he tasted true Bumblebee Stew.
The tale of the meadow, the dragonfly, and the stew,
Whispers a lesson, profound and true.
Whether you’re a person or a creature that flew,
Kindness and joy make the best kind of brew.
So, listen, my darling, as the night falls anew,
Dream of the meadow, the bees, and their tune,
And remember, like the sweet morning dew,
The magic ingredient is in the joy that you brew.
The end.
The Tale of Bumblebee Stew