It's Still Life

A Quietness Inside

Did you hear shy bluebells ring?
A song that begins, and dies again.

Breathe white on white, frozen air and snow
as a gust slips in, kills your wick and flame.

Droplets of nectar is a bee’s liberty,
let reason be my thirst and rhythm.

Bees meet under the scent of lilacs,
dance with their threadbare dreams

and see innocent depths in a quiet lake.
The loser in all this is spring long gone.

What distance is between death and dying:
a last breath; farewell earth and ignorance.

©️ Misky 2020, for The Sunday Whirl’s 12 words