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The bees surround
the rhododendron:
natures as a battle ground.
The nectar snare,
the rising hum.
The parent plant,
uprooted – swollen
Dry cracks fat-full,
flow with ants
and petals spill
a lilac blanket on the grass.
A thorny branch wears
jewels of dew as a diadem.
The bees snap back
to the hive. Summoned
by the drum in their head.
Hear it now,
the rising hum.
They won’t be here
in forty days, for then
they will be dead.