Bee-Ware

That bumble-bee
is meant for me;
he ricochets
off his delays.

He loads a rose –
right in he goes;
I rest and wait
and guess my fate.

A dream’s a fool
and earth is cruel;
the skylark folds;
the blackbird scolds.

The rose takes aim
to kill or maim –
he buzzes past –
my luck can’t last.

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