poetry, Stories

The Beetle and the Bee

There once was a beetle and a bee, the bee had his head hung in shame. The beetle, a perceptive one, asked the little bee.

“Why dost thou look so glum?”

The bee, hesitant at first, replied in all politeness.

“Forgive me, great one, I am disposed to this feeling of worthlessness for I’m a mere bee, I have not any distinguishing ranks by my name unlike thyself who was sired a ‘tle’ after his own. Forgive me for my insolence.”

The beetle, wise beyond lifetimes, was left astonished by the qualm of this bee and spoke,

“Why dear sir thou art most intriguing a creature. Bring thy fret to the many with whom I wander and thou mayst find them to prefer thine name as mine own. ‘Tis a humdrum task of calling me by the endless term prescribed, they consign to the single syllable shared between us. ‘Tis not a rank of prestige but a tedious task for the tongue.”

The bashful bee replies,

“Sir, thou art most kind and perhaps ’tis thine kindness for which thou art risen in ranks, but I find it hard to concieve of such an idea that thine most worthy name be driven through the mud. The members of the hive and I value ranks as much as life, and for that reason I find it impossible to believe someone may tarnish thy name and reputation over frivolous matters such as the preservation of breath.”

The beetle smiled at the bee and spoke not one word. They had reached a stalemate and the bee, becoming aware of the fact, let out a laugh. As his laughter subsided the two creatures sat in each other’s company, smiling. A single thought going through their mind.

Strange.

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