Yellow home,
Yellow mill,
Yellow body is a bee.

Misunderstood is the thing,
Scolded,
Feared,
And killed.

But such a service is a bee,
A thing of yellow,
For flowers they nurture,
Honey they groom,
And without them,
Nothing would bloom.

Without yellow things,
To carry pollen,
Nature would fail,
Humans would too.

Such a small thing,
But a bright one too.

Many of them there are,
But with every year,
Many of them disappear.

What a sorrow this is,
What a shame,
And people are to blame.

Nature has a dependency,
Several, really,
But one we must know,
Is a thing of yellow,
A simple,
A small,
And semi-free,
Bee.

A thing of yellow.