Spring-Song to Mother

The golden trumpets of the daffodils

Shall wake again the wonder that has lain

Quiescent in this time of earthly ills,

Death and unimaginable pain.

Spring shall come with all its cleansing rites

To sweep the sorrow from this house of woe,

Unwelcome visitant of days and nights

Who blocks the road on which my soul must go

That I may see all happenings as grace;

For nothing that we love shall ere depart.

I look upon the beauty of a face

Long known within the chamber of my heart.