The scout the hive sent forth lies frozen. The flowers have not emerged, and the sun’s frigid distance presages the brave scout’s last vision. Brightness, alone, the endless white word of winter’s grip, a brief memory of sisters, warmth, the hive, and then the ice preserves her body, a perfect ghost, dressed in crystal sheets.

The scout the hive sent forth lies frozen.
The flowers have not emerged,
and the sun’s frigid distance presages
the brave scout’s last vision. Brightness,
alone, the endless white word of winter’s grip,
a brief memory of sisters, warmth, the hive,
and then the ice preserves her body,
a perfect ghost, dressed in crystal sheets.