Evidence

HERE lies a bee, the victim of his fate.
It seemed a purely suicidal thing
For him to stir me into swatting state
From total disregard before the sting.

So here he lies; and somewhere in a hive
A cell or two may lack its honeyed store,
And fate the cause, for I did not connive
With reasoning to make the market soar.

The price of honey’s no concern of mine.
One laborer the less will not much change
An industry in which none can resign.
This will not cause the hive to rearrange.

Were he a very Hercules of bees,
His product still were small to larger eyes.
He did the best be could. De mortuis
Nil nisi — I shall not now criticize.

So much of good and ill depends on chance,
And size makes relative a loss or gain;
The world is filled with doubtful circumstance
Like this wherein we met, I stung, he slain.