Requiem

Requiem for a Honey Bee

By Roy D. Follendore III

Our yard is blessed

each and every spring

at that very moment

when birds first think

to find their right mate

and then so begin to sing.

Glorious violence of violet

then rakes our small hill

before the cool light grows warm

and then grows broad

summer leaves on trees and grass

through essence of nectar

and green chlorophyll.

And thus while I and my lover

were out photographing today

this blooming annual riot of light

I paused for in one brief moment as

a single still honey bee

filled my lens and my sight.

So shockingly small

that glimpse of natures dream

which slumbered and cradled

among arms blossoms soft hold

a fragile shell of a creature

perhaps frozen in late snow,

or had simply gotten too old.

At this I paused again

and befitting more than empty sadness

I too, I thought, or I should hope

when I have grown too old for even Spring

and too must rest my shell, my tired old head

perhaps I shall be so lucky as to find

such a tender and beautiful

crocus bloom of blue

to make a sweet bed.

.