Fame is a bee, brown and gold,
It buzzes round the nectar.
Bees suck and work away all day,
Turning all to honey.

I would rather have fame
Than any amount of money

Fame has a song,
long and lasting,
A ballad played on silver strings
Mortality surpassing.
Death is so distressing!

I would rather have fame
Than any other blessing.

Fame has a sting, like any bee.
We are bound to our own fatality.
Poems may live on.
Ah that just one might last
Rising away from gravity
On the outstretched wings of fame.

Immortality.
Such precious wings!
Death defying.

 

~*~*~*~

inspired by ~

Fame is a bee. (1788)
by Emily Dickinson

Fame is a bee.

It has a song—

It has a sting—

Ah, too, it has a wing.