Within this black hive to-night
There swarm a million bees;
Bees passing in and out the moon,
Bees escaping out the moon,
Bees returning through the moon,
Silver bees intently buzzing,
Silver honey dripping from the swarm of bees.
Earth is a waxen cell of the world comb,
And I, a drone,
Lying on my back,
Getting drunk with silver honey,
Wish that I might fly out past the moon
And curl forever in some far-off farmyard flower.
Toomer, Jean. "Beehive." 3000 Years of Black Poetry, ed. Alan Lomax & Raoul Abdul. NY: Dodd, Mead, (c)1970, p. 211-212.
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