The Gold Of The Bee Poem by Mark Heathcote

Nepal mountain dwellers
happily suspend a thousand feet
on homemade rope ladders
dangling mid-air, it's some-feat.

They carry long cleavers
and have large wooden buckets;
they're determined-teeters
that'll swing to-and-fro, quite cumbrous.

While giant black honey bees
angrily sting, swarm-around frantic
as these fearless thieves trapezes
to their golden prize ecstatic.

It's hard to believe the lengths they'll go
for something sweet and sticky,
syrupy golden on their tongue;
buckets filled, now lowered down below.