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!
Love, love, love this one. I remember when Stew took it.
I love this photo!
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!
Emily Dickenson