The cavalry height of the privet hedge and
the overtopping elder, thorn and maple
shelter the apple trees, whose tangled curves
are deep and dense with leaves and blossom;
so despite sharp gusts, today they are bee-full
with bumbles of various pitches and volumes,
yellow-pollen be-spotted;
and the tiny black bee
nectar-drunk, tripping on petals, fizzing on stamens,
flies a warning past my peer, then back on-task,
muffles it's zuzz at the flower's heart again.
Time off from time, so deep in the stitching,
the weaving of now, that deep in night later,
in presence of words recollecting that nectar,
conveying that pollen from stamen to stigma,
to such sleep I surrender that flies as a bumble,
such dreams as a tiny black bee might engender.
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The Singing Season
PoetryThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
