If I could bottle the soft fragrance of the lilies,
If I could bottle the light setting fire to that maroon one and its pink neighbor,
Spinning the tall ivory blossoms into angels wings;
If I could bottle the same light as it blinds on the water,
Tips the tops of the firs with gold,
Runs a long finger down the trunks and dances across the green moss floor;
Along with the light, if I could bottle the merry chatter of nuthatches,
and add to them the soft warm wind,
the busy breathing silence of the night the woods,
I would uncork it one night by the winter fire.
I would uncork it on a gray wet day following another chill gray day.
I would uncork it as the gales lash us and ice coats the walks.
I would uncork it, pour it into a glass
And, eyes closed, sip my way slowly back to summer.
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