One Hive One Bee Poem by James McLain
One Hive One Bee
He stands there, a month
in the sun, golden alone.
No smoke to harvest, is
it has been since, none.
Honey runs, from into, air
no jar.
Bees gather the ground.
Crimson clover, turns over,
a song of wings, hurried,
pockets, blossomed with
orange, scented flowers.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: bees,wings
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8/14/2026 4:05:33 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
