The Gentian weaves her fringes

18

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!