The little boy
that I revert to,
on all my birthdays
looked out
in vain
for one small sign
from her who would
not ever
let me go.
The boy had learned,
of course
from life
and souls alike
that talk is not
just cheap
but can be used
as ready currency
to catch a fly.
Or on occasion
a little boy.
All boys,
when young
are wholly owned
romantics,
who need
not only milk
but, often,
a dose of
sweet Manuka Honey.
I praise the Gods
who in their wise
and fair-play grace
created many
bees,
and gave them
faculties
to make
those hugs
of sweetness
last.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hugs-of-sweetness/
