Tasting of the summer

My mother loved the wild flowers of New England, Called by their common names and Told me stories about Sweet William and Iris, As we roamed the wild meadows on magic afternoons; Stories of Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Brown-eyed Susan; How a princess lost her shoe and a prince his blue buttons, And Lady's Slippers and Bachelor Buttons grew. We tried to count the Buttercups and Daisies, (Stars that had spilled over heaven's brink, she said) Cowslips and Ox-eyes, Dandelions and purple Clover. And one afternoon in Guilford, Maine, My father cut pieces of gum from a Spruce tree The strangeness of the tangy, pink substance Tasting of the summer enchantment.

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