Through our garden the rains run slanting… They vanish beyond the distant mountain pass. And mother looks like Princess X In a hat with a grey veil. Like amber swollen are the honeycombs, Where the breath of the steppe embraces the hive, On each frame all the bees are heavy, For they have only just returned from work. Sweet dews in their dance gleaming— With midday flowers intertwined. And rolling across my mother's hand An amber droplet—a bee. The bee's lineage is both noble and rich, In the gardens of Eden it finds its beginning. It works in the flower's abundance, So that the whole world might taste its honey. This most ancient of "civilizations"— The Lord's wisdom in nature's mystery. It preaches a lofty morality—labor, And in this resembles my people.
