Flowing

I had a flower.
Fresh as morning meadow.
Soothing as morning dew.
Elegant like the slanting late light of day.

I had a honey comb palace.
I carried as a babe to home,
The nectar of the flower:
Nurtured a kingdom of gold.

My flower is gone,
The nectar is dry,
The palace is bare,
And I starve.

I am a homeless bee,
Free to to be lost,
A prisoner to wandering,
Free to be found.

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