miracle

It will be Summer — eventually.
Ladies — with parasols –
Sauntering Gentlemen — with Canes –
And little Girls — with Dolls –

Will tint the pallid landscape –
As ’twere a bright Bouquet –
Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian –
The Village lies — today –

The Lilacs — bending many a year –
Will sway with purple load –
The Bees — will not despise the tune –
Their Forefathers — have hummed –

The Wild Rose — redden in the Bog –
The Aster — on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion — set –
And Covenant Gentians — frill –

Till Summer folds her miracle –
As Women — do — their Gown –
Of Priests — adjust the Symbols –
When Sacrament — is done –

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