Drops of Nectar

At summer's end, at perfect time,

_   Hosta shoots reach up high;_

As the purple cups, hanging down,

_   Beckon those flying by._

_ _

With whirring wings and slender beak,

_   Colors catching the sun,_

Humming birds feast as they hover,

_   Always amazing one._

_ _

Yet on this day, the lumbering

_   Of those inside the cup,_

Fumbling, tumbling, the bumblebees

_  Rouse this watching one up._

_ _

For while drinking drops of nectar

_   Prepared in flower'd jar,_

The bees, unknowingly, bear gold,

_   Life that's spread near and far._

_   _

_ So__ too we receive His blessings_

_     Not seeing __as we taste, _

Others touched as we're becoming

_    The vessels of His grace._