A rose has left my garden

}

I dreamt of a garden blossoming in a desert;
of bells ringing in the modest tower of a church,    above a pristine land of births and joy galore,  
somewhere in the East beyond my lore.   

I dreamt of the busiest of all beehives,
 defiant little bees building honeycombs,
 catching butterflies hanging from the sky— precocious quest of infantile abandonment.    

   In sadness lost, I saw depart impromptu
 from the happy cluster of my dreams,
 a silent bee wrapped in sighs and farewells.

 Her fate unknown but seeming thorny,
 unknown dimension my soul is target
until my honeybee returns in hurry.