It’s not about the honey

by Sarah Adams, UK

 
 It's not about the honey
 It's not about picnics panic free.
 It's about the missing
 Black gold striped
 Warmth in the grieving air.
 The sun messenger silenced
 And a suggestion of wings-
 Like violin strings
 Buzzing and humming and whirring.
  
 Who would have thought
 A sunbeam and soot coloured
 Mini anti-gravity machine,
 A furry little flying bear!
 Would leave the air so empty...
 The land will miss them,
 The gold dusted stamens
 Will wait and grieve,
 Wither and die, childless. 
 Our bellies will miss them.
  
 And our rainbow plate 
 Will become dull brown and ash grey,
 In mourning. 

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