Determined on his valiant quest, The bee has lost what he loves best. Without sweet nectar the bee is doomed, To exist in a world full of gloom. Full of none but emptiness. The sad result of unfounded fears. The clay is cut.
Earth takes form.
A soul inspirited fresh and clean. The clay is wet. The world adorn, Molded slowly, an animate being. Fresh on its way, Great adventures yet unseen. Living art, God's own to play, A tiny piece of the great machine.