July 2: A Tale of Honey

A poet sees the flower as a sign

Of transience, and beauty that will fade.

But to a plant, a blossom’s fair design

Ensures its pollinators will be staid.

And pollinators, heedless of the part

They play in reproduction, blindly seek

To take their tithe of sweetness and depart;

No poetry the process would bespeak,

Unless one thinks of honey, and the bees

Who perishable nectar do devour,

And metamorphose it with seeming ease

To that which never spoils- whence came this power

To change mortality to perpetuit...