God Bless the Bees. A Poem by Trish Bennett

The Mother,
cocooned in Leitrim,
takes out her frustration
on wandering roses
and other wayward strays,
who assume
they can travel freely
in the empire of her garden.
She’s terrified of bees
or she’d have
the secateurs gripped
in her arthritic hand
while she hoists
her cobalt knee
onto a wobbly stool
to stand and butcher
the bumbled
Berberis Darwinii.


Servant to a menagerie of creatures, some human. Poet. Tells stories. Makes a show of herself. Beekeeper. Takes photies. Throws knives. http://trishbennettblog.wordpress.com/

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