'The End of the bees'

I lay and listened in the tall green grass,

For the flight of the busy bumblebees

Flitting hither and thither on the gathering,

Sweet high days of summer

The mystical bell weather of nature,

The small worlds of tiny creatures

Failing to fly,

The silence of the humming

The flow of honey stilled,

The end of universes

The pollen polluted,

The flowering fields a fantasy

Fly away, flying into oblivion,

The land laid waste and fallow

As we gather the last roses,

A wreath for the end of the bees

©Mary Cecil