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.