Hexagonal wonder.
Palace of sweetness,
honeycomb of flowers.
Crystals of wax
fashioned by jewel makers.
Do not underestimate the bees.
They speak in the radiance
of pure architecture.
Their pastures are clover and daisy.
Their language
is the poetry of summer.
They create glorious casements
in the trees, and
the cool boxes of the farmer.
They come from the spring,
from which
earth creates a dream,
light transformed into gold,
the opulent wine of honey.
They work,
oblivious of our own
jealous longing for construction,
for art,
for bridges and spires,
that touch pinnacles in ourselves.