The Dripping Hive...

The luminous nectar,
From many a sector,
Drawn by each bee,
During the night's spree,
Making them glow,
Even as they stow
Light, for themselves,
In the circular shelves.

It is slow,
But the hive does grow,
By a fraction, each night,
Till it's replete with light.

That's when
I caught them in action,
In between
Their dance of satisfaction;
The swarm round the hive,
All feeling warm and alive,
Darkness riven,
Losing its grip,
Joy was a given,
And how it did drip!