Once,
not long ago,
the lavender hedge hummed
and trembled,
the foxgloves’ narrow,
yellow throats were lodged
with bees.
Silence, now.
Unadorned absence.
Where is the bee’s champion?
Their Rachel Carson?
When will we exchange
our short-sighted mantra
of “not-our-fault”
for “how-can-we-help”?
And,
in so doing —
in helping these small,
industrious creatures —
help
ourselves?
— C.Birde, 6/16
2 Comments
Lesson learned: Tend your garden regularly. Mine is riddled with mushrooms and mossy patches. It doesn’t get much sun, either. 😛
compelling images woven into the first few lines, an important message toward the end. and then there are the lovely photos. “Where is the bee’s champion?” I think the answer is written after the end of your poem.