The Gentian weaves her fringes –
The Maple’s loom is red –
My departing blossoms
Obviate parade.
A brief, but patient illness –
An hour to prepare,
And one below this morning
Is where the angels are –
It was a short procession,
The Bobolink was there –
An aged Bee addressed us –
And then we knelt in prayer –
We trust that she was willing –
We ask that we may be.
Summer — Sister — Seraph!
Let us go with thee!
In the name of the Bee –
And of the Butterfly –
And of the Breeze — Amen!


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