Drone Of The Bees

 
Away! Away! ---

Instrument from flower.

How dare you counter fate
In these late immeasurable hours.

Golden and agape;
The sun-soaked blossom
reaches for nothing ---

Clinging, it seems
To all it believes in.

Such pestilence its trying
Fluttering in the wind.

Buzzing, its counterpart ---

An incision its whim.

What nectar, such penance,
How harried, such sin ---

Falling as dust on petals.

Saving such garrulous moments
For those who give in.



                      ----



Footnote:  Inspired by this quote:

           'The claw
            Of the magnolia
            Drunk on its own scents,
            Asks nothing of life'

                -From 'Paralytic', by Sylvia Plath