The Song of Bees

Tomorrow we die

But today, we distil

The essence of life’s hidden mysteries

From the hearts of a thousand flowers

And transmute their fleeting glory

Into permanence for the unknown

How like the gnarled hands

Of a toothless dreamer,

Who plants a tender mango sapling

Whose ancient eyes can never see,

The splendour of spreading branches

Of luxuriant swinging fruit

For the unborn.

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