After a long day's travail,
buzzing in fuzzed intensities of sunlight,
the dapple, in-and-out of hollows,
the bright signatures of petals,
the lights of their landing-strips
zeroing in on the sweet prize,
seeking, collecting,
moving pollen-dusted on,
returning loaded to the hive,
bask for a few precious minutes
on a sun-bed of privet leaves,
bathed in kind evening light,
cleaning our legs,
in quiet contemplation of idleness.
..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
