A poem should not mean,
but bee.
Wasp not,
It still must buzz and hover
and otherwise irritate us;
Hang at the edge of earshot
and dive back at awkward moments
When life has loaded our hands
and we can’t easily swat it away.
And while we may savour the sweetness
Accumulated from their collections,
The true destination of their
Long, dusty journey through time
Is to make the world bloom.