I have some of it still,
We gathered on the hill,
In an empty glass, the bunch of wild thyme,

Faded now, and dried,
But in which yet abide
Some purple, a smell of summer in its prime,

When we stopped the car
Bought honey in a jar
At a roadside stand.  It makes me think about

The theft of bloom, the sting,
A swiftness on the wing,
Things that sweetness cannot be without.