These autumn days, of tempestuous storms alternating with decidedly warm sunshine, seem to have bewildered more than mere humans. Since, in the absence of frosts, many summer blooms still struggle on, even the wise bees seem not to know what to make of it.
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week, To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn's sky. So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon I should bask no more 'neath the trees on some high noon And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead. For the cold and rain must come, now Summer's dead. So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease; And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please Some clamoring inner urge -- some need apart, And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends -- Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk, While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work. Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe. How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So I said goodbye to the bees; and then I wrote This crown of threhodies, while in my throat I choked back many a sob and salt tears spent. But I felt I'd done my job, and was content. For I'd penned my piece to the bees -- the poet's tosh Of the Autumn's drear unease. Ah, me! Oh, gosh! I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week.... Then the tempest shook the trees, the swollen creek Went thundering down to the plain, the wind shrieked past, And the cold, and the wet, wet rain were here at last.... Then, a hot sun, scorning rules, shone forth, alack! And those blundering, blithering fools, the bees came back, Humming a song inance in the rain-washed trees. . . . Now it's all to do again. . . . Oh, blast the bees!
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003|