haibun for when the bees return and the feast can finally begin

The giant hive hides itself within the crumbling chimney. The family burrows inside the empty fireplace, rolled in blankets of soot. Soon, the children will ask for food. Mother will rip the drapes from the windows, slash and darn to fashion an apron, forget where the rations are held. Hold me. Hold me. Someone is crying. Someone is cold. The neighborhood animals pray for an early spring. The bees have returned to the blossoms.
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Robins hide their nests
when mother calls for dinner.
Bees wait til sunset.

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First post in a long, long time.  Though, I must confess, it is not a new poem.  I wrote this haibun months ago, when I discovered the form.  Naturally, I can’t remember where I discovered it, what poet I was reading, or what poem.  But, what the hell.  Here’s a poem!  Hooray!