The Flower of Mending

(To Eudora, after I had had certain dire adventures.)

  When Dragon-fly would fix his wings,
  When Snail would patch his house,
  When moths have marred the overcoat
  Of tender Mister Mouse,

  The pretty creatures go with haste
  To the sunlit blue-grass hills
  Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax
  And webs to help their ills.

  The hour the coats are waxed and webbed
  They fall into a dream,
  And when they wake the ragged robes
  Are joined without a seam.

  My heart is but a dragon-fly,
  My heart is but a mouse,
  My heart is but a haughty snail
  In a little stony house.

  Your hand was honey-comb to heal,
  Your voice a web to bind.
  You were a Mending Flower to me
  To cure my heart and mind.