My Honeycomb


I asked for bits of sugar to borrow.
You filled my pitcher with honey.
I prayed for rain in the parched land of my burrow.
You made me my own honeycomb with chambers of honey.
The selfish heart still ached for more.
I urged you to quench my pride.
My head grew bigger, your head grew sore.
As you left, my honeycomb dried.
I do not ask for forgiveness.
I merely surrender my pride.
I have been smaller than ever, I confess.
I peep from my burrow to steal a glance from your side.

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