This is a common scene in the Arizona desert. We get used to sharing our drinking fountains with bees and wasps. Of course, this is usually only a problem with drinking fountains that leak. Here is an appropriate poem about bees.
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
The Bee by Emily Dickinson
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