The Bee's Long Ride  

By Thomas M. Quigley told by Arthur

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A handsome log on its way to the sea,

Chanced to meet a little bee.

Said the bee to the log, “Mind if I ride?

I’m all alone with no place to hide!”

The little bee with tears on his cheeks,

Said, “I’m tired of buzzing up and down creeks,

My wings are all tattered and torn,

Just trying to find a place that’s warm.”

Now all of you know how cold winter can get,

And this little bee was afraid to get wet.

A wet little bee in the cold of winter,

Would end up in spring as stiff as a splinter.

He tried to explain to the log as it drifted,

That the world upstream had really shifted,

Away from the kind, loving climate he knew,

And into a place where the cold wind blew.

The log answered back to the poor little bee,

“There’s room for you in the stump of my tree,

I’m sure it’s warm if you snuggle inside,

And there’s plenty of room to hide.”

And so he flew in with a smile on his face,

Happy to find a nice warm place.

He went right to sleep and had a fine dream,

Of sugar and cherries, and peaches and cream.

The days went fast as they floated on down,

Past the tall cliffs and a small little town.

They sang a few songs and whistled and talked,

Happy that they didn’t have to walk.

One day a tugboat pulled along side,

And said, “The ocean will catch you in its tide,

It’s rough and it’s tough and sways to and fro,

It causes some logs to break and so,

Let me pull you in by the side of the river,

Where you’ll be safe and won’t have to shiver.

My boss can find you a happy new home,

Away from this place and out of the foam.”

So the tugboat pushed the log up on shore,

Where it sat in the sun and was dry once more.

The boss came down with a sharp little stick,

And jabbed it around till it hurt just a bit.

“He will never do for the mill,” he grinned.

But I know where he will fit right in.

Down by the side of Mr. Hobb’s store,

To brighten the sidewalk and lots, lots more.

We’ll fill it with flowers to bloom in the spring,

And bright little bushes to lighten up things.”

Now the little bee worried but stuck with that log,

All the way down and around the jog.

The workers finished fast and didn’t cut through,

The home of the bee, nor his pot of stew.

The log really liked that little bee now,

And was happy he decided to stay anyhow.

Now the rain and the wind don’t disturb the log’s friend,

Nor make him wish he had gone on instead.

But happy they sit in the spring and the fall,

With nothing to worry about, no, nothing at all.