I hear

bees in our garden, more every day
gathering pollen, crisscross their way
they haven’t time to linger in the sun
for time is honey they hurry along
or briefly cling in the breeze and sway

they only pause to brush with care
specks of gold dust from their fur
sometimes they will dance a jig
sketching a course mid air
to remember where our garden is

all worker bees must choose
a resting place some nuzzle
on a flower no longer left in haste
to spend their final moments
in a perfumed last embrace.

when Winter has me in its thrall
if I close my eyes to the cold bare soil
it’s you I hear contentedly humming
wild flower memories we chase
and sunshine spreads across my face

-Val Bowen