Honey -with apologies to Rupert Brooke

HONEY - with passing apologies to Rupert Brooke..

Where do bees go in the winter my friend, 

Where do the honey bees go ?

Wherever they hide, at summer's end

Only the honey bees know...

And where goes the honeybee's honey my friend

When the honeybees are gone ?

To the back of the fridge, till its sell-by date's end 

Where it's lain, neglected, too long.

"Where's the honey?" you cry - "I was sure we had some"

Sealed and safe in a squat little jar

With the red-current jelly, posh mustard and jam

That's where the honey jars are !

So when the men return from over the sea.

Will their England perhaps have changed

And as Rupert Brooke once declaimed 

Will some melliferous vestige yet remain ?

At ten to three, will there still be 

In the summer heat and humidity

Beset by wasp and sweet-toothed midge

From the murky depths of the vicarage fridge 

Honey, still, for tea ?

Rupert Brooke, handsome and sentimental war poet, is mostly remembered by the last two of the 150 lines of a rather long poem written in Berlin in 1912. He died towards the end of the war. Of a mosquito bite, in Greece.

© nigel hallworth 2021