For Laurel Sheepskinner, Her Flowery Majesty, High Queen of Bees
Active bees of swarms produce;
Roving tight battalions loose,
Hunger on the meadow-flower.
‘Neath that army’s massive power,
Shyly slouching Beauty’s-Child,
Bends herself submissive, mild.
Thence to home they bear the prize.
Fierce, the works ‘fore secret eyes:
Crawling, making, toiling on,
Cease not till the work is done.
Ancient, soulless soldier-farm,
Gathers gold and does no harm.
Sweet sleep which guards the tranquil night,
Is like this trove of bounty bright.
For sleep will fell,
Sharp fears, and quell,
Our swarming thoughts grown big by day,
And lay them resting, tucked away.
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Thank you. I like it a lot. I’ve been given a poem only one other time from my Daddy. Actually he had a lot of say about my “other” middle name too. :)
I hoped you would! Though in all truth, I must confess that I did not begin to write it for you. I have forgotten by now how the connection between bees and sleep came to mind, but when it did, I could think of only one person to whom such a poem I would dedicate.
“‘Other’ middle name?” A notion have I, but not clear . . .
Hmm, well, my “other” middle name is Anne. Please don’t be offended but I much prefer it to “Sheepskinner”.
Oh. I didn’t think you meant that. “Sheepskinner” is–to the right sort of people–praise high enough, but even so, it cannot hold to any pretense of being worthy as a middle name. No, it’s only a title; keep your middle name.