Standing in a line
transported back to recess
pigtails disheveled; heart disillusioned
my eyes on the best of the group
hearing their names called aloud
Mike…
Beth…
Jim…
my heart sinks
will I be called last?
Will I be left standing alone?
I hear a familiar voice
His eyes focused on me
I have been chosen
He wants me for His very own
I am His
His alone.
Once, I heard a famous poet compare the inner workings of his brain to that of a beehive... undeniably hectic, seemingly unproductive to any non-bee observer, and yet producing a sweet result - a unique perspective. It was at this precise moment that I realized this poet would make a superb coffee conversationalist, if only I could remember his name... In the meantime, I invite you, my fellow bloggers, to trace the flight patterns of the bees in my head and yours...
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