The greedy bee flits to and fro
Smelling and scanning,
Cynically sniffing the zinnia's pistil.

At its scale the air viscous, thick, and heady. It's
Ready to move, cut its fuel burn and
Turn to the tulip tree.

To save some precious seconds
For efficiency
Is not an option, it's a ransom.
Greedy hive, greedy bee.
                        

Fell the tree and hack its limbs.
Rip the bark off all of them.
Buck the logs by eight by eight.
Now the true hard work begins.

Hew it like a herringbone.
Gash the cant, and feed the chips
To the kiln through Moloch's lips.

Timber green to lumber dry,
Yard stacked smartly to the sky.
I look around, quite satisfied
At the machine that I devised.