Patterns in black on yellow like Polynesian tattoos
The hornet queen lay in my hand like a fifth finger She is rust-orange and so patently magnificent
Vespa Lancastrian; but she is weak and confused
Has awakened far too many time this winter
Yet she laps up the nectar I have placed there
Takes her fill of food and rare human warmth
Then she is replete and she needs again to sleep
I place her in the darkest, coolest, driest corner
For the frost is coming soon and she will slumber
Till the April and then what work she will make
And now she knows my scent she will come visit
Roar thorough the garden and to all her children;
She will tell that such kindness is always repaid
And my garden shall be picked clean of all the bugs
And her debt is settled in full when I eat my greens