Bee and Mole

She's near, but rarely here, and that fact
Eats away at me. She wants me close,
But not in sight, and, while she flies from
Friend to friend, a honey bee among
The flowers, when she is away from me,
I burrow, mole, unseen, alone, and have
No more to occupy me than the vision
Of my bee. My days are long inside
These tunnels. Hers are short, so, when
I reach her, she has little time for me.
I watch her rise and shrink to nothing,
Turn, and dig again, and try to cheer
Myself by thinking she is near,
Though rarely here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 70 times
Written on 2015-08-14 at 13:48

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