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.