A  Teaspoon of Honey


Greek yoghurt, cream with attitude, requires
a contrast, marmalade or strawberries –
something with colour, something sweet and sunny,
or tart, with texture.  Sensual discord fires
the synapses.  My favourite topping is
a teaspoonful of honey.


Of all the insects only bees provide
food humans eat.  A dozen bees will take
six weeks (their lifespan) for a ceremony
of harvest, dance, disposal, multiplied
a thousand times – twelve maiden-slaves – to make
one teaspoonful of honey.


Poets are apian, storing bric-a-brac,
bee-alchemists, who turn dust into gold.
We do not value our achievements, money
or honours half as much as this strange knack,
sweet skill, of transformation.  Here – behold –
my teaspoonful of honey.