Provision

A poem about bees, their tasks, and recognition.

Such small creatures that take to the air.
They are the foundation of life and nourishment,
It's in their nature, yet aren't aware,
A beneficial outcome arises from their intent.

They're neutral, yet are able to bring balance--
Two sides to them, being productive and bring harm when provoked.
Having two traits like those would deem them of imbalance,
But who they are entirely aren't cloaked.

A community by the hundreds within their palace.
Those who aren't out scavenging have roles, to maintain the survival of royalty;
Guards protect their community along with the young and royal highness, liable to bring malice,
Proving their natural-born loyalty.

Those who venture return,yellow dust is what they hold.
Given by the immovable,
It becomes the most valuable treasure them and other-- liquid gold.
It is a product of provision, it's provable.