Hush, little honeybee, fold your little wings,
And dream of flowers yellow bright, and other petaled things.
There’s honey in the hexagons and pollen in the pot,
And you shall rest among the riches all your folk have brought.
Quiet, little honeybee, still, and listen well
To the thrumming rustling murmurs that surround your little cell.
Hear now in their whispering your kindred’s constant theme:
A hum of adoration, for one day you’ll be queen.
No comments:
Post a Comment