The round dance
He brings honey, the bee man,
collector of yellow gold,
curled for tasting on a spoon,
an endless drip from heaven.
His smile is like sunshine waking,
low laughter a mindful buzz,
fair hair as fine as little wings,
and we find ourselves addicted.
At the fayre, we form a circle
of obedient bees softly humming,
newly sprung from our hives,
strung together by his honey spell.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 14, 2021
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