POETRY

The bees from Innisfree have gone.

I’m afraid they’ve been killed, poisoned.

They won’t be back. I did it to save my life.

But now, I’m dying too.

They came and gave me nectar,

and I fed on rich honey for a while.

Then I killed them.

Now I need them back.

But it would kill me.

I don’t know how to call them back.