The Song of Ceber

Argument: Despite liking each other, Medy and Ceber do not know how to broach the subject with each other and their flirting is the talk of the dauber hive.

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Town Life

No battle life did Ceber crave, saying,
“That part of my life is over.”

A dauber’s life is not filled with battle,
conflict passes them almost always.
She learned skills to help build houses.
Made of mud,       mighty and strong
they weathered any weather.
Never had her hands done this kind of work.

Everyday Ceber gathered mud from the river.
Hard work but it made her stronger.
It is said even a mighty river may change course
Due to dauber’s work.

Merry Medy       met her on the bank
almost everyday.       Always with ale,
Made in his father’s house.
It was the best in the entire village,
Had won fair day prizes and
Offering succulent surrender
to those not used to its sting.
Silent Ceber       thanked him too
And he smiled charmed by her grace.

“Oh,” he would say to himself.
“When light shines bar-like off her black carapace
And the water sparkles on her sunny face
My blood quickens to think that gods made her
Perfect as she is, not unto another.”
he thought like Raven
He’d found the light of heaven
And released it into the sky.

Ceber thought him cute.
But she lacked social graces
And never expressed       her emotions.
Of him.

O, but if Elsalay spoke
both wasps were       deaf to her whispers
Adeptly       deceived
Unable to communicate       basic cues
Neither knew of the other’s purpose
Nor could guess.

They rarely talked, poor souls
Seeking each other out
Unconsciously driving competition away.
When one of the other wasp maidens
Strayed to catch Medy in their sight
Ceber called him       claiming some enterprise
When a male’s eye strayed,
Medy steered her away.

Yet, they wondered nightly
What the other thought.
They could have asked the town!

Since Ceber’s arrival
Rumors ran       around rampant
With no shame
And when Medy would follow her
Lost like       a human’s lamb
puppy-like in adoration
They’d all say, “Such is youth
Cute in       its clumsiness
Unsure in its purpose
Would that we could       wonder so;
Wild wanderings       in a land called love.”

The Song of Ceber

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