In August our wasps do not rage.
Suffused with chrysalis commitment
They silently tend their paper cage,
Soaring one by one to seek
Nectar from abelia and myrtle blooms.
For them life seems sweet
With endless heat of Texas summer days
And this lush garden at their feet.
They pose no threat to us nor we to them.
We leave each other be, though either kind
Is capable of dealing pain.
The painful times will come without our aid,
For them the winter frost, for us
The stings that age will bring.