Caught In Friendly Fire

Today I met a flower. Beautiful, cheerful, hopeful. That is what she appear to me, this flower. Literally bouncing with joy within; it made her pollen bee buzz off, intimidated at first. A fellow hymeneptra, I am a threat. Or was she a fool or being fooled by the lullaby, snugged pits of her benefactors? I am neither a threat nor am I threatened. I simply was overjoyed at the sight of this flower, eversince she was a bud. Happy thoughts bridged our moments until a shot was fired in the air.
Awaken off my revelrie, I realised, I wept. This flower is none the wiser. Beautiful and innocent, she is rooted and welcome visits from bees and butterflies. Cultured she was, protected she is.
My flower, if it is within my locus, I'd shelter you from fires that draws near. As I flew away, I acknowledge the buzzing bee. Perhaps, he will be good for I do wish to deliver my paralyzing sting on a lesser hymeneptra. A bee is a vegetarian, I suppose whereas I'm a carnivore. I dread at the truth my flower will learn as she will be caught in the drawing fires of her own inquisition. She is that that a honey bee can't resist.
As I type down these words I wonder about those I knew that were severed from me? From us? Do they too require our condolences printed in our daily brain staple?
I too was caught in this friendly fire, I am licking my wounds still. I am a survivor. I wonder about my flower...