Image and Description for Poem #81

We should not mind so small a flower -

Except it quiet bring

Our little garden that we lost

Back to the Lawn again.

So spicy her Carnations nod-

So drunken, reel her Bees -

So silver steal a hundred flutes

From out a hundred trees -

That whoso sees this little flower

By faith may clear behold

The Bobolinks around the throne

And Dandelions gold. 

Description

Meditating, "quiet" on a rose that is losing blooms, because fall is now here. The bees now full of pollen have left, "So drunken, reel her Bees", and the leaves fly off the branches, a peaceful pleasant sound of wind blowing through a flute, "So silver steal a hundred flutes". Feeling the breeze brush against my cheek like a bird "bobolink" flying through the air landing on a "throne" where I now stand, on the lawn, knowing in faith this "flower" with roots in the earth, "gold", will rise next spring.