Honey Bee

He exudes a busy ‘huzzah!’
As buds beckon his wee talons,
He lands atop a fine fuscia
So light that sound cannot tell on.

He is but a tiny wizard
Practicing in a grass salon,
Weaving the sweet into a word
That lovers gild and poems sell on.

He lonely shops the plush bazaar
Of which he’ll lug to home’s pylon,
Gathering gobs of magic myrrh
On wings that bow as dusts pile on.

He becomes a tiny lizard
Venomous once he’s stepped upon,
Wielding his spear, he shards his barb
Piercing the toe he’s pitched up on.

He flies maimed unto his Caesar!
With crumpled wings to rely on,
Resolved still to his Queen’s bursar-
His wee heart! The little lion!-

He is but a tiny blizzard
Swirling down to the spring chiffon,
Humbly granting a last shiver
From his heart as the winds shift on.

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