Donald P. Goodman IIIVersion 1.0,
My little girl ran by me, wailing like a torch was pressed against her soles; the pain was all she knew, the terror was her sole emotion; on the porch I held her close and tried to calm my little Lou. She gasped, “A bumblebee! A monster has stung me!” And try'ng to catch her breath was all that she could do.
The bee was tangled in my little daughter's hair, had stung her right behind the ear; her buzzing sound was like a hurricane to Lou; and crouching there, I freed her and the bee from where they had been bound. My daughter rubbed her head; the bumblee fell dead, a liberated corpse, in freedom on the ground.
Two worlds, Louise's and the bee's, collided there; each was a monster to the other; can they see what I can see? the beauty in the day so fair? the dappled sunlight streaming through the maple tree? My LoulouBelle must cry; the bumblebee must die; the world in all its wonders ever more must be.