Honey falls sweet on a tangerine bloom,
If I were in reverie, so dear to me,
I’d savor the honey to thread in a loom.
To weave it strong amidst the bee.
The hive might miss this humble servant,
But racing thoughts to suckle what’s sweet
Has long since left me fervently.
For my loom rusts against the garden’s feet,
And I am left alone to reverie.
Bees look restless awaiting their queen,
And I am not she, so my love must sever me.
The honey I can’t suck leaves me lean,
If I weren’t in reverie, so dear to me,
I’d weave the blooms of tangerine.
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