Reply to Fly (a response to Emily Dickenson)

Remember the lady?
A large-brimmed hat, a pink silk flower
Who came into our meadow bower?
I, drunk on fall aster and black-eyed susans
Fell asleep on her hat,
Woke up in heaven!

Orchids in the alley,
Air so heavy with sweet perfume
I could scarcely fly.
The hat is finally deaded home, and so am I.

It won't be long
I'll hear Frog's song.
Our springtime arbor so alive,
Wild lupines on the hill,
Lilacs, heavy with nectar still,
My own dear hive.

I'll tell you all when you I see.
Your best and oldest friend,
The Bee