The Bee flew.
Until it could no longer fly.
The Bee rested.
An man spotted it.
He provided water.
But the Bee did not drink.
The Bee was dead.
Tired and exhausted.
The Bee had no more life to give.
The Bee had rested.
It dreamt of calm meadows and scorching days.
The bee was gone.
But it was not forgotten.
It had flown into the stranger's heart.
It would rest.
Safe and sound in the stranger's heart.
Rest now, Sweet Bee.
For your journey is at an end.
You have travelled far and wide.
Rest now, Sweet Bee.
Your pain is no more.
Fly upwards into your next life.