HONEY FOR TEA
I’ve sat in the sun
From three to five
Watching the bees
About the hive.
They are horribly alive!
From white to red,
From red to white,
They weave Euclidean
Tangles of flight,
And nowhere find delight:
But them a maniac
Industry eggs
Onward; they grapple
With hairy legs,
Methodical to the dregs.
The blossom rifled,
With laden thighs
Further each willing
Eunuch plies:
A dull way to fertilize.
And back to their cells
They come at last;
Armed, incurious,
Sailing past
Me where I sit aghast.
Oh, horrible
That aught can be
So sufficient, yet
So unlike me!
I shall go in to tea.
There in the parlour
I shall find
Things to restore
My peace of mind;
By man for man designed.
The rat-tail spoons,
The china dishes,
Smooth as the sequined
Sides of fishes,
Obedient to my wishes;
The sturdy table
So plain and whole,
The meek sweet
Of the sugar-bowl;
These shall confirm my soul
Till I, emboldened,
Lift down from the shelf
The hoarded treasure,
Taken by stealth
From that inimical Commonwealth.