Poem Bee

An old huitain, revised

She swoops into a clover field
imbibing nectar from the yield
to bring the buzz back to my muse.
In labyrinths, her job’s concealed,
while jamming cells, so I can wield
my wings. I’ll savour scones that ooze
with honey, mead to make this toast —
to hiving my redundant ghost.