Welcome to This Old Drone, where, we’re stepping back in time to explore what beekeeping looked like in the olden days and from the past to present. Today’s blog is about honeybee drones poems. There aren’t many poems devoted solely to the drone honeybees. Several early 20th-century poets wrote about bees in ways that reflect how drones were viewed at the time—often symbolizing idleness, fate, sacrifice, or the natural order of the hive. In farm journals and beekeeping newsletters from the early 1900s, short poems and humorous verses about drones occasionally appeared. These were often lighthearted:
- Joking about the drone’s “lazy” reputation
- Comparing human loafers to hive drones
- Reflecting on the drone’s fate at season’s end
Many of these poems were anonymous and printed in publications such as Gleanings in Bee Culture. One poem that I was able to find was published in The Domestic Beekeeper Successor to The Bee Keepers’ Review, NorthStar Michigan, 1917 “The Drone’s Lament”;
THE DOMESTIC BEEKEEPER
The Drone’s Lament
Charles Elton Blanchard M. D., Youngstown Ohio
I am the drone,
Symbol of all that is lazy and useless,
Victim of feminists things and ideals,
Serving these females as missing link of procreation;
Often begrudged the food I eat, the space I fill,
Tolerated for a time as necessary evil;
They would I were not, but for the end I serve
In their selfish plans for preservation.
I am the drone.
I am the drone,
I preen and glisten my shining coat,
I buzz and hum my lazy song,
Yet, Fate, in cold and heartless terms
I wot not of, decrees for me my end.
Anent the season comes when Autumn leaves turn sear,
The chill of frost is on the vine,
And nectar dries to flow no more,
Then am I seized and thrust without,
To die;
Or, such lingering death not satisfying,
My end is hastened by thrust of sting-
A weapon I have not, and had I, would scorn to use;
Such as my feminist keepers delight in.
If in all Nature's realm of things that's sad:
If any fate would call forth sigh or tear,
It seems to me its mine.
I am the drone.
I am the drone.
And had I the wisdom a fourfold more.
I’d thwart the game, perhaps, perchance,
By denying them my self-destroying function,
And thus end all.
Yes, by this fell stroke my sweet revenge
I’d take on the female world in total,
Though worker, queen and drone
Were thus to face extermination, I’d do it.
I am the drone.
I am the drone,
And I, the drone, like men, am blind.
Like men, I’m tricked and soothed, beguiled erstwhile,
My ego swells, my importance great I feel,
And thus I do, and thus I die.
I am the drone.
I am the drone.
Like men, I ask, What’s all the use?
Why resist the plan a Greater Wisdom made
For men and me?
Each must obey, instinct or reason gilded
To act well or ill his part,
Doing what he may and dying in his time,
All playing at the game of life.
You will play yours as the plan is made,
Just as I play mine.
I am the drone.
Charles Elton Blanchard was a real person (1868–1947), primarily known as a doctor, medical writer, and author of books related to proctology, alternative medicine, and social commentary, including The Romance of Proctology (1938), Wayside Experiences (1909), and various amateur journalism writings.
Note: Article was digitized by Google and Original form University of Minnesota.
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect the official policy, position, or ideals of the North Cascade Beekeepers, its officers, advisors, or members. Publication in this newsletter does not constitute endorsement by the club.