Gets me thinking
about bees
industriously flitting
from bud to bud
among the thorns
to collect the nectar,
to take to the hive,
to seal it in geometric cells
from which it is later
harvested,
packaged and
shipped to a store
where I blithely buy it
and store it in a cupboard
so that on a random,
cold, and snowy
day in late January
I can taste
the sweet promises
of summers past
and yet to come
January is really bringing out your inner poet! Keep it up!
ReplyDeleteOr it maybe the interesting conjunction of unemployment and the River of Small Stones. Thanks.
ReplyDelete