A Poem my Father and I wrote, when I was a child:
The little Bee flies through the storm
For a place in the woods that will keep him warm.
All through the wind and the rain he sleeps
Until the dawn around him creeps
A Poem my Father and I wrote, when I was a child:
The little Bee flies through the storm
For a place in the woods that will keep him warm.
All through the wind and the rain he sleeps
Until the dawn around him creeps