The End Of Being

Where do bees go when they get old,
too tired to work,
too weak to fly, or seek
new flowers and fresh blue sky.

Where do bees go when their joints are worn down,
sanded soft by the hard trawl,
between field and colleagues,
every long week in hot syrup air.

On the last day we face a morning glow, and leave,
pass the petals, and fly
over the blooms that sag in summer's heat
over the meadow's sweet scent
over the streets of the swarming city
over the sleeping cats
over the shifting sand
over the sea
away and up into the white sun
of honey fire.