6 April 2012
One still mountain day, Whilst sat on a rock, A Sasquatch spied something strange.
Pulling up his lumbering frame, He trudged towards the commotion. There, on an Aster, worked a lone bee.
The Sasquatch stood still. Amazed by this sight. A creature so far from home, disturbing the peace.
But soon his delight turned to concern. So far from home, It would soon be night.
Ever so gently, he cupped the bee, Between his leathery hands. Slowly, he began down the mountain.
With the sun soon to set, A few hours past, He reached a meadow, teeming with colour.
He picked out a large yellow flower. With all the care he could muster, He placed the bee down.
There stood the Sasquatch for a few moments more, Admiring the bee. Then, with one last glance, He turned and headed back.
As he climbed, He became aware of a tingling on his hand.
In the dimming light, turning his palm He noticed a tiny black spec. He gave it a rub, and carried on home.
The Visitor • Opuss № I