My son and I walk across the limestone ledge
To the ragged edge.
Sixty feet below the dark lake water ripples;
The trees between are swaying in the breeze.
We are looking for the cave beneath the ledge,
Famous for bees.
Sliding down the rock face,
We peer suspiciously along the shadowed length . . .
More than thirty yards of shelter,
With massive stone above, an earthen floor,
And marks of many campfires.
But what about the bees this place is named for?
Where are they?
Cautiously stepping along the cave front,
We look from side to side,
Daring each other to be first.
At last we reach the point
Where we must either plunge ahead or flee.
We dash past the danger and reach the other end,
But nothing happens; and we see
That someone has burned the beehive out
And left the hollow space beneath the ledge
An ordinary cave.