Bee-

the tiny honey-making brewery of the elements, drawn
by an inner bond to the honey locus tree-
at blossom time, crazy with gratitude,
euphoric ,working as farmers for others, completely
immerses in the feeling
of each moment and the sweetness, condensed itself
deep in the heart
of ripening tassels, its darts- siphon the sap, its wings
slightly battered but not the petals. Its swelling
crop awakens in it some sort
of awareness of some purpose, having
been served ,its heart devoted to love labour, leaves
not even hair-size emptiness, no matter lasts it not
physically, its service lasts.



Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Read 81 times
Written on 2024-05-06 at 02:22

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Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
They found some honey,
Next to some Egyptian mummy's
Still edible after all those years.
( The honey not the mummy's ).
They gather the honey in their crop.
Regards Alan
2024-05-06