SOURWOOD
by R. T. Smith
When the keeper has died,
whose hands have touched
so much honey,
the village will convene
to elect a successor
and to remember
the sweetness of his voice,
his dependable hymns,
the spell of smoke
and the hush just after.
While the elders
resist the old rhythms
of grief, one will speak
of the ancient belief —
that the bee-father’s demise,
kept secret, could cause
the death of the hives
in the coming winter.
Then the question will rise
in a nervous murmur:
Who will tell the bees?
Oh, Vicki, I love this! The thought of who will tell the bees is applicable in so many aspects of our live!!! The prose is elegant and the illustration is beautiful! Brava!
I sit in a crowded restaurant – with a shock of recognition and struggling to keep tears from streaming down…
When my father was ill and I was doing honey extraction alone that first fall he was in hospital, I stood: surrounded, enveloped, uplifted by the overwhelming power, pure intensity of sound(hum/roar) of bees cleaning honey supers; channeling their power to him, sending strength…
He’s been gone over five years now, but thanks so much for this; so glad I let them know.
Thank you, Deb. I’m so glad you love the poem as much as I do–and that it has special meaning for you.