waiting in melancholy
like a restive, unquite, summer bee.
I spent time rummaging through an unorganized ' trunk '. What I held in hand was not quite what I intended to hold. Yet this, I knew, was all I would find today.
Sometimes, like now, it feels so, to bring the words to rhyme. I stop, thus, with the lines above, till the mind ( i.e the unorganized trunk ) makes poetry again.
This ( picture below ) has become a wall-paper out my balcony. Flowering to a happy yellow. And it seems to compete. The brighter the sun, brighter it beams. I will spend more time, swirling around it like the afore mentioned bee and spy into the nector. It might help to spell the sweetness it holds.