I floated on saccharine honey comb
Mistress of stinging bees
Being slowly inwardly torn
By airwaves penetrating old sycamore trees
My mother with saffron olive tree skin
Said my protean king would move like the waves
Emerging from morose modern din
A good man does all bees save
I spun men’s limbs around like a fortune wheel
Somewhere on the zodiac he must be
Some water-weaver knows what my bees feel
he will stop morphing his ways for me
One will let me hold his heel you shall sea.
I left Calypso-the Echoes were too deafening.
Maybe this one will
salvage my hive
bring my honey alive
No comments:
Post a Comment