She was born in a cell
and from there she fell
into a dark, enclosed cave
where she was a slave.
She was destined to be
something somehow far from free.
Never able to breed,
never crippled by greed.

And still she flies through the air on a
bright, sunny day.  As if she has not
a care, she carries on her way.
The velvety silk, of the petal yields
its milk; and it nourishes her flight
as she works until the night.

Giving days away for honey
Trading time for some money
What matters when you die
is that you had a reason why.
Lots of little mouths to feed,
the only reason that she'll need.
To sacrifice her life
and bear all of the strife.

She endures all the pain
of the cold and the rain,
Never knowing if her life is lived in vain.
Yet you'll never hear her cry
or on her deathbed wonder "why?"
She wasn't made or ever trained to complain.
Just another day in the life,
another cut with the knife,
Another drop of blood slowly flows away.
And the sweat and the tears
become one over the years,
And there's nothing left to give at the end...
                                                        of the day.


- Billy Craig
                                                               

The honey bee said to me, before she stung me,
"Nothing's free.  Buzz, buzz, buzz, I work because,
we have to eat, when life's not sweet."
She kissed my ear, she brushed my face,
I shed a tear, when we embraced.
A lesson taught, a lesson learned,
a life forgot, a truth discerned.
The sun recedes, the winter days,
the cold impedes, and slows our ways.

She drifted then, into the sun.
She knew no sin, her life was done.
The price we pay, our lives we work,
yet still one day, we'll see Death lurk.
Shadows and dust, In God We Trust,
because we must, Love got lust.
No tears were shed, when blood was bled.
The living said, "We envy the dead."



- Billy Craig

"I was ten years old on my grandpa's farm when it happened
After all these years i can still hear grandpa laughin'
As he applied that barnyard remedy
He passed his wisdom down to me
You don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive

Verse 2: (Clint Eastwood)
I remember my first crush was on the preacher's daughter
We were smoochin' on the front porch swing that night when he caught her
We weren't expectin' him home until quarter past ten
When the good Lord taught me that lesson again
You don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive

Chorus: (Randy Travis,Clint Eastwood)
You don't point your pistol before you check each chamber
And you don't drink no you don't drink when you drive
It's just ordinary common sense to avoid that danger
You don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive

Verse 3: (Randy Travis,Clint Eastwood)
She rolled into town with rodeo,she was a beauty
And that cowboy saw you wink at her,she was a cutie
The sound of jinglin' spurs caught me dead on a run
He was fit to be tied and you were under the gun
You don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive

Chorus: (Randy Travis,Clint Eastwood)
You don't point your pistol before you check each chamber
And you don't drink no you don't drink when you drive
It's just ordinary common sense to avoid that danger
You don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive

No,you don't reach for the honey without smokin' the hive
You're gonna get stung boy"


Randy Travis - Smokin' The Hive (Lyrics)

 The Humble-Bee  Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)   
BURLY, dozing humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek;
I will follow thee alone,        5
Thou animated torrid-zone!
Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.        10 
Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion!
Sailor of the atmosphere;
Swimmer through the waves of air;
Voyager of light and noon;        15
Epicurean of June;
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum,—
All without is martyrdom. 
When the south wind, in May days,        20
With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall,
And with softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
With a color of romance,        25
And infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,
Thou, in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
The green silence dost displace        30
With thy mellow, breezy bass.  
Hot midsummer’s petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers;        35
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.  
Aught unsavory or unclean        40
Hath my insect never seen;
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple-sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,        45
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue
And brier-roses, dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,        50
All was picture as he passed.  
Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,        55
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;        60
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.  

Like the Bee and the Flower

Let the wise man live
in the flower of his village,
like the bee, gently taking flowers’ honey,
but not harming the blossom
and it’s colour and scent:

The Buddha

The Bee   by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

"Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry   Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.   His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.   His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!"