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THE QUEEN BEE





Mathematics fails to bring order to our sorrow.

Why is it that that finger calls for the hammer?

Life isn’t choreographed the way we like it to be.



Einstein is not guilty for leading us to the bomb;

The inventor of the Colt is not guilty for murder;

Calculus is not the measure of willful intent.



In the dusky night of the hemlocks, the queen

Bee abandons her throne; systems analyst and

Programmers cannot predict her eventful return.



We are faithful companions to unfaithful theories;

But adhere to the paradigm du jour in the moment;

And the Holy Spirit is always ahead of our concepts.



We run hot and cold in the estimation of beliefs;

A hot tomato by day and a cool onion at night;

Maybe the queen bee is similarly assailed by doubt.



She relies on exactitude from the drones, who like

Us are enamored by geometry and mathematics;

To build her a home her intuition says is prison.