November 25: Prosperity
Such snuff is the reign mere borrowed
Heads of crown handed down
Rings of rule now fooled
Take…
Hold…
Pass…
We were never meant to lead for long.
“Leaders don’t live.”
And life doesn’t lead.
It flows, spills, ripples, and rides the wave.
Waves break,
Then rejoin the tide once stirred.
Prompt: Someone will rule when the bees are gone. Roll the die to determine who will protect the land.
Someone Foreign. Another outsider? A wanderer like the bees? An individual who never knew the world’s wonder until today?
Someone Young. A local youth? A protector groomed since birth? Do the bees have to seek out this new protector?
Someone Natural. Does the key to protection lie within a natural barrier instead of someone living? How do the bees utilize this boundary to benefit the land?
Someone Ancient. The bees were never meant to wear the crown for long, but to merely hold it long enough for the rightful, years-old ruler to come along.
Someone Many. A group effort works best. Which collective will serve as sentries to guard the brittle?
Nobody. Crowns are not needed. The bees fled a crown. Those seeking paradise must find their own ways.
Write: How do the bees decide who will take their place? How do they groom the world to receive this decision? Is there opposition? Does everyone agree to the same candidate?