We spot her on Easter Sunday
She’s back again in the garden
Flying to the wooden washpole
Softening the wood to a pulp
Taking it away to build her nest,
One year in the shed roof, knocked
Down by a clumsy bean pole,
Next year on the walled pear tree
Taken maybe by a hungry bird.
Can this really be the same wasp?
Do they live for many years?
Solitary, she quietly works on,
Her nest the size of an orange
So beautifully camouflaged
So many journeys from the pole
So much painstaking work,
The continuance of her species
Her sole purpose and only reward