Bumbling beasts, I raise you twenty A race, a race, the pollen fields Succulent, you honeyed-breath The hours, the hours I've spent between The house, the hive, the evergreen
Honey, Honey bees I wonder If I may steal that plunder A comb for Darcy, a comb for Emmababe On three count, should we run?
Spring-sky shepherd, herd your clouds close and shade us We who crack our combs clean Sweet gold, hours old That cloud-flock does humor at fingers giddy They roll, Break, burst Should we run?
What homeward birds bring back Do nest their young in April song Oh southbound remedy We returned, feathers free