Bumbling beasts, I raise you twenty
A race, a race, the pollen fields
Succulent, you honeyed-breath
The hours, the hours I've spent between
The house, the hive, the evergreen

Honey, Honey bees I wonder
If I may steal that plunder
A comb for Darcy, a comb for Emmababe
On three count, should we run?

Spring-sky shepherd, herd your clouds close and shade us
We who crack our combs clean
Sweet gold, hours old
That cloud-flock does humor at fingers giddy
They roll,
Break, burst
Should we run?

What homeward birds bring back
Do nest their young in April song
Oh southbound remedy
We returned, feathers free
Run, run, run