Morning glories, pale as a mist drying, <br />fade from the heat of the day, but already <br />hunchback bees in pirate pants and with peg-leg <br />hooks have found and are boarding them. <br /> <br />This could do for the sack of the imaginary <br />fleet. The raiders loot the galleons even as they <br />one by one vanish and leave still real <br />only what has been snatched out of the spell. <br /> <br />I've never seen bees more purposeful except <br />when the hive is threatened. They know <br />the good of it must be grabbed and hauled <br />before the whole feast wisps off. <br /> <br />They swarm in light and, fast, dive in, <br />then drone out, slow, their pantaloons heavy <br />with gold and sunlight. The line of them, <br />like thin smoke, wafts over the hedge. <br /> <br />And back again to find the fleet gone. <br />Well, they got this day's good of it. Off <br />they cruise to what stays open longer. <br />Nothing green gives honey. And by now <br /> <br />you'd have to look twice to see more than green <br />where all those white sails trembled <br />when the world was misty and open <br />and the prize was there to be taken.<br /><br />John Ciardi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bees-and-morning-glories/
