Fortune arrives to those who expect it

Who said that, asks the one still waiting

Bees forfeit sunlit blossoms to suckle a blank wall instead

What made sense yesterday leaves a smudge for us to ponder

A circle is unending like a fortress of safety forever watchful

But through a new jaded pair of eyes a circle is a prison

From which only the secretive and most cunning may manage escape

Tunnelling through ages of rotted ideas and misguided plans

Breathing shallow so as to avoid disease by the effort

Believe in change, the mantra humming in their heaving chests

Through filth and squalor a sliver of light hints at silver

Bees circle upon walls, forfeiting temptation’s blossoms

Allowing either conspicuous gaps or innocuous bee suckling spaces

Readying themselves for the new age where winged things flourish

Where honey is the preferred currency