Perhaps again the bee…

Perhaps the moor’s heather shall stand proud
Enchanting, by its vibrant purple shroud
Rutilant below heaven’s snow white cloud,
Her eyes, as if she had long since vowed
Again to no more vainly cry aloud;
Pleading after the bee’s sweet secret kiss
Sweet aromas softly yielding bliss
Around the tender form of gentle miss
Gath’ring nectar – such gracious benefice –
Accomp’nied by a quiet burr and hiss;
In time shall we perhaps the honey taste?
Not though ’til then, shall we again embrace.