Bee, Tell Me Not

by Brett Rutherford 

     adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology v, 163

The bee, just back

from my mistress's ear,

heavy with pollen

from the garden blooms,

passes her by: false scent,

and a sting of her own,

sends him back out

to his hive-queen duty.

Bee, there is nothing

you can tell me of her

I do not already know.

Deep have I nestled there,

no bud of spring so sweet,

no rose-heart falling

drunk on its own aroma

can match the dawn aura,

the red-fringed lily

of Heliodora rising.