Such a heady profusion confuses the tongue, as ever adolescent Beast gulped at Beauty from hiding, simply stared rapt, nothing to be done; commissioned artist might pause, suck brush at duty.
I'm lazy lucky I can bask in belting sun as grasses ruffle (so tickled then are forearms) illumined blades, where dandelion bullion lies scattered beneath the waving tiers of blossom.
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But gentle the day there, don't dare dislodge the bees few as they are, from these so consequential rites; steady ballerina seed on twirling journeys; leave butterflies their quirks - don't interrupt their flight.
Such sweetness is a beacon for the pilgrim's course where advertising scent leads in to copious source.
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The heading media pic is by Monet. The photo is of my apple blossom. It's a Shakespearean sonnet form but with 12 syllables a line. (I know dandelion seeds don't help fertilize apple blossom ;) but I just had to mention 'em ).
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Heroine
Under the rag-rolled cloud-dapple dusking, under a couple of sickle wings swift-veering (feeding in the last of the sun up there), under the cascade of blackbird phrases, eye-height among white petal-profusion, working into twilight, my heroine bumble:- ginger furred thorax, quivering robustly, routinely swept clean by a supple, black leg, striped abdomen tipped by a wicked sting (no barbs nor spirals to cause her pause)* she labors tirelessly, following her own system, which is good enough for me, any cool of evening, while the little speckled moths flit into privet.
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*Bumblebees, unlike hive honeybees, do not need to sacrifice their own lives when they sting; and can do so repeatedly.
