Among the scented lavender and perfume from the rose,

and in-between the brilliant greens where blue hydrangeas grow,

I sit upon the garden steps beneath the blossom trees,

and see my spirit messengers, the soft-winged flights of bees.

 

I whisper in a gentle voice; the bees still carry on,

working through the flowers as they sing their honeyed song.

Yet even though they never stop, they take in every word.

Each crystal shimmer from their wings is proof that I am heard.

 

Tell the bees the household news of wedding dates and births,

for bees are sacred creatures and the spirits of the earth.

They watch over the garden and the home in which you live,

and a bee upon a baby’s lips means everlasting gifts.

 

Tell the bees the secrets that you hold within your heart,

for this ensures that from your home they never will depart.

And if you’ve lost a loved one and you wish to say a prayer,

the bees can visit spirit worlds and they will take it there.

 

But who do we tell our secrets to if bees are dying out?

Will they leave this changing world of rising heat and drought?

I tell the bees my worries as they fly through flower stems,

and fearing for their future world, this time I wish for them.

Posted by Max Mowbray on Monday 18 October 2021