They came in August, like an army from the north
a large droopy bundle
on a limb they held
an old man’s beard they
became full of stingers and
wings that beat
I ran out of breath to see them
like that, they pulsed, they moved
as one they did think
their center was lovely
so strong and yet weak
they gave us their nectar
we gave them our fear
The keeper came and told them to
wait, he was housing them soon:
but they did not hear
but they wanted to go
but they did not know
he was their friend
Ten thousand bees came to live
with us now, their ghost was gone
so they wouldn’t tame
so we are their camp
so they let us dine
honey and comb divine
page 19 from Western Soul by John K Bucher
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