Telling The Bees

Here in the darkness of this cellar the summer sleeps in jars. The honey winks from one jar to another. We resurrect it spread it on bread and butter. Then we go to tell the bees of your dying. 'All your sad or merry you must tell the bees! ' The words gleam through tears. The bees busy with their 'Reinigunsflug.' They pay us no heed. We leave them a little funeral wine in a sky blue saucer with a golden rim. We tap the hive with a key 'EinsZweiDrei! ' as you taught us to. Anoint our lips with honey. Whether the bees have heard our news we know not. The bees busy being themselves murmur... a church congregation. Your wife (your death has entered her) poisoned her life ...chants. She chants. 'Bees bees, your master's dead An' now you must work for his missus! ' Now we are at a loss at what to say. Words fail us despite the honey glistening on our lips.