My Many Rooms

I am a honeycomb and, too, a time machine:
I’m rows of chambers mired in an earlier age,		
Where every single chamber opens to a stage,
And every single stage depicts a unique scene.
You’ll often find me drifting, wandering niche to niche.
You’ll often see me journeying back and forth in time.		
And if I, on occasion, delve in grief and grime,		
I’ll sooner soak in rivers rich in lambent fish.		
Had someone known how fecund life can be,
She might have told me, earlier in the day,
That every moment lived hands you the key
To yet another niche along the way.