My head buzzing
Over the latest crazed
Talk of imminent war, I try
To forget by spending
A good part of the morning
Under the shelter
Of our Judas tree,
Taking in the inebriated
Bees as they bomb cluster
After cluster of deep pink
Flowers —I know
It makes no sense
Whatsoever but I hope
The bees don’t start
Making a beeline
For the wine cellar.
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