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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