And breathe the scent of lilacs in her room
As she recrossed the plains with desert skies
Parching the sands. Caressing sprays of bloom,
She reminisced: "What joy to know a part
Of springtime in our beautiful Nauvoo--*
A lilac root--was in the handmade cart
Pulled by my John and me to flower-strew
The cabin we would build on prairie sod."
The miracle of bloom taught Gran love's way
To turn grief's path of tears to lead to God;
To whisper secrets in a bride's bouquet;
To walk with beauty. When a killdeer-chime
Was her 'clear summons to God's friendly loam,'
She closed her eyes to rest in lilac time,
Holding a spray of lilacs to take Home.
*(Nauvoo, a city in Illinois.)
