"Hello", I say, "how've you been now? "
My voice just echoes off the ground,
Busy bees don't stop to wait,
They rush along from flake to flake.
A sentence hanging in the air,
Lonesome, cold and in despair,
But bees don't stop, no, not to talk,
Conversation airs they mock.
"Really busy", so they say
As they rush towards the light of day,
"I've things to do and sights to see
Times up my friend. Goodbye from me!"
Engrossed in bringing the trophied gruel,
They miss fragile sunlight on morning cool,
Which scatter life into the flower bed,
And open gently their honeyed heads.
No comments:
Post a Comment