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