Blessed are the flockmarked trees and bees made gold.
Indispensable bumbles, fluffs and fauna.
Cranberry, tulle, Boysenberry, pawnbroker, penumbra. They scatter.
A fire above the blazing garden battle. Honeylove for a pout,
teacakes, Earls in Grey and flour white loaves. Caught at
the edge, the bee-sage makes a heavenly stout: pressed to lips,
a pleasant hum to make good the year and sun’s sweet sallow.
© Eve Redwater 2012