The Bumblebees

Little yellow bumblebees
float about my head
like bits of stardust from the sky
hung on a piece of spider-spun thread

and on the narrow edge of my eyes
a drip of ocean wallows
creeping down a sun-filled cheek
to the sad curve of a harrowing frown

and oh the endless possibilities
and words for a groping heart
there is no more a shred of hope
and only numbing smiles

the hands of a silly maiden
shake with the very thought
of listening to the ugly sound
of a clock go tick tock