No it hasn’t been only concealment
The bee peeps sometimes from under its hood
But part of the appeal of the hive
Is the many rooms it offers wherein to hide

And solitude is hard to come by
In fact like silence solitude is never available
For even confined in a cell
The many voices crowd around

The many voices from the past and future
The many accusing voices of the present
Which howl the past and howl the future
Which demand confinement in foursquare lines

And yet even so the blue box suspended overhead
Occasionally shifts slightly ajar
And its content or merely the fragrance of its content
Diffuses slowly subtly calmly voluptuously