Dream Alchemy

Aubade at dawn a voice soulful sings,
and I snared by some sobbing strings.
The grove’s soil adust, wide stretching,
my heart consoles the pollard trees;
when expected by love’s pollarded pyre.

In my hands gathered the beryl-gold,
now melting by the flame of fondness.
This torrid I water with molten-gold tears,
the cobblestones hued in kindred shade.

Up the barrow to the lone pond I proceed,
whereon the unpruned tree still stands,
led by a longing’s phantom, beneath it I find
a colony of generous yet famished honeybees.