When asked to write about myself I prefer to let my words speak for themselves. I think it is our inherent reaction to pre-judge with too much knowledge –maybe it’s better to approach things with the open and curious mind of a child, who knows what treasures we might find..........
Liquid gold they called it Sweet dripping and viscous I stole mine from a local hive When I knew it’s days were numbered I remember the faint buzz As drowsy bees tickled my hand They didn’t sting me It was as if they knew They’d given up the fight Nothing left for them to fight for I dug in my curious fingers And scooped the warm syrupy liquid Cradled in wax It felt like burning candles Warm and comforting But the thing I remember most was the smell Intoxicating Heather, honeysuckle, Lavender and clover An English horticultural delight With a faint whiff of hints of vanilla Strange really Maybe it was just imagined An imagined stolen sweetness I kept it in a locket That once held a picture of my true love Clasp shut tight The wax holding it in place I open it when I get scared Or when I want to feel safe I sometimes share it’s smell with my children Who imagine this bee paradise With minds of innocence
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
The Critic (23/03/2020)
Look at Mother Nature on the Run (23/03/2020)
Music of the Waves (18/03/2020)
The Weeping Willow (13/03/2020)
Little Me (13/03/2020)
Apocalyptic Honey (12/03/2020)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/ophelia
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