Honey Tree

Somewhere in the meadow I wandered day and night
and in-between was dewy dusk, silvery fleeting light.
My feet were worn and weary from trodden tangled grass,
from prickly vine and ticklish roots that bargain me to pass.

Little Baby Blue Eyes, Aster, and Chicory
scramble to the sunlight, few and far between.
Listen, for the foxy hound, he follows close behind.
He will drag his feet in misery, sloppy ridged spinned.
In dusty lanes of mossy rock of spindle green and white,
heckles badger, badger runs near, then out of sight.

They'd never want me to find it, they want it for themselves.
It's ambery sweet, perfect complete many flowers of this land.

Bumblebee, oh humble bee of the floral meadow steppe,
escort me young working bees to the woodsy edge.

Beast and badger sneak behind and needle through the grass,
skip the sweat pea and chicory, there's something much more divine,
oh yes, something so much more divine!

Here they come and there they go buzzing 'round my head,
golden dust they drop from above their honeycomb tied legs.
Then I climbed each branch and sprig
up the grit and gruff limbed tree.
There I saw its golden gleam and slopped it up all for me,
slopped it all up for me!

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