The Cheerful Bumblebee

Koninginnen gespot

Once upon a time, there was a bumblebee that flew humming and buzzing from flower to flower. Every flower got a kiss. It was an optimistic bumblebee with a cheerful view of the future. His fellow bumblebees were always greeted cheerfully. He was the friendliest and nicest bumblebee in the area.

Every morning he flew from his beautiful cottage on the canal cheerfully and buzzing to the sun-drenched world. He remembered that world as a little bumblebee. His mother always told him to eat his honey breakfast or he would never become a big bumblebee.

Now he was mature and strong and beautiful. He flew with powerful humming wings to the sun-colored flowers. He knew exactly where he’d gone last time. So he could not be wrong to greet a flower that no longer contained honey. Yes, he was an economically conscious bumblebee.

So, the days went beyond one day even more beautiful and cheerful than the other. He pollosophized flower after flower and the people from whom he descended were all of those cheerful buzzers and hummers. He also got along well with the Queen, yes he was a fan of hers. Unfortunately, she was always busy laying eggs.

Unfortunately, summer was approaching its end. He, too, felt that in his bumblebee joints. It became harder and harder for him to fly out humming and buzzing. One day at the end of summer, he wasn’t doing well. He could still fly out and look for his previous stop, but how crazy breathing suddenly went so heavy for him, how strange. He no longer felt so happy and his view of the future was not so cheerful anymore. He had to rest all the time and his wings were buzzing and humming so exuberantly.

All of a sudden, he was on the floor. He looked around, but he didn’t know what was happening.

He suddenly realized his end had come. Never cheerfully greet and pollinate the flowers again. He crawled slowly and insecurely across the ground. Breathing was getting harder and harder. In his mind, he still saw his mother and the Queen smiling at him. Then it got dark, forever.

In the garden where he had landed, a man saw him lying on the ground. The man was somewhat moved by the dead bodice of that beautiful bumblebee. The man knelt and with his knife the man lifted him to his final resting place: in the leaves of the flowers, he had flown on and past for a summer.

And so ended the cheerful and optimistic life of a bumblebee.




I am an artist:painter. I paint and draw. Its a kind of figurative surrealism.

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Mark pol

Mark pol

I am an artist:painter. I paint and draw. Its a kind of figurative surrealism.

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