Emily Dickinson Poem #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!