Bee-
the tiny honey-making brewery of the elements, drawnby an inner bond to the honey locus tree-
at blossom time, crazy with gratitude,
euphoric ,working as farmers for others, completely
immerses in the feeling
of each moment and the sweetness, condensed itself
deep in the heart
of ripening tassels, its darts- siphon the sap, its wings
slightly battered but not the petals. Its swelling
crop awakens in it some sort
of awareness of some purpose, having
been served ,its heart devoted to love labour, leaves
not even hair-size emptiness, no matter lasts it not
physically, its service lasts.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
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Written on 2024-05-06 at 02:22
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Alan J Ripley |
Texts |
by yoonoos
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