Where to go and where to not?
Every place is burning my heart,
Honeycomb has become bitter
And the bees depart;
Landed on the gems and golds
As they look like honey
But neither they are sweet
Nor kind, only they shine sunny,
Bright and sunny—
Wages I have none but a heart
Rich of love and grace,
But none desires this kindness
For this identifies a poor face;
Now I don't want bees to return
For the honeycomb is dead,
Eagles have eaten it and the rest
Is saved for their children's bed.