Classic Poem

The bees' way is a blue way
Through the trembling air.
Bearing rich merchandise
On fragile wings he flies.
He has sacks of pollen gold,
And casks of flower wine,
And mysteries untold
Of scent and color fine.

Wingless, men come and go
Along white roads that lie
Winding and long and slow.
The honey bees go by
On the blue way and high,
Dropping to earth to sip
At some weed's scarlet lip,
Singing a drowsy rhyme
Over green herbs that drip
By little streams, sharp thyme
And spearmint and catnip.

On my milk-white bread
Brown honey I will spread,
Topaz honey found
By bees with pleasant sound
Of summer melodies,
Red clover, water cress,
Wild grape and its sweetness,
Walled gardens, apple trees,
The singing honey bees
Have visited. They know
Where spirits go, and scents
Hold secret sacraments,
And little winds are free,
And clouds speak intimately.