Small Contingencies (Poetry)

There’s a buzzing in the hive
a strange unrest amongst the bees
a kind of insect battle song
that’s growing louder by degrees

It sounded soft a month ago
and barely broke the peaceful ease
of passing summer’s lazy glow
but now it sharpens the cool breeze

War is coming — unofficial
sly rumours spread and chill the earth
with almost tangible foreboding
since dark rebellion’s due to birth

“Never in a month of Sundays”
was once the rule, but tides have turned
despots heed no hint or warning
it’s high time old Rome was burned

Most of us can feel the rumble —
the cannons roar, but distant yet
day by day we read the tabloids
between thin lines the battle’s set

Savvy bees trade information
tactics planned to save their hives
mankind wreaks sheer desolation
not caring who or what survives