18 <br /> <br />The Gentian weaves her fringes— <br />The Maple's loom is red— <br />My departing blossoms <br /> Obviate parade. <br /> <br />A brief, but patient illness— <br />An hour to prepare, <br />And one below this morning <br />Is where the angels are— <br />It was a short procession, <br />The Bobolink was there— <br />An aged Bee addressed us— <br />And then we knelt in prayer— <br />We trust that she was willing— <br />We ask that we may be. <br />Summer—Sister—Seraph! <br />Let us go with thee! <br /> <br />In the name of the Bee— <br />And of the Butterfly— <br />And of the Breeze—Amen!<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gentian-weaves-her-fringes/
