How could I leave him there--my little boy
Who longed for beauty--in a prairie grave
Piled high with rocks lest hungry wolves annoy
His quiet sleep; with not one bloom to wave
Its fragrant brightness in November's chill?
We, who had listened to the young West calling
And answered with a song, must trek until
"Our valley" loomed. "Will there be fountains falling
In lily pools?" he asked. He loved each blossom
In our home garden. He found new loves too
There on the barren desert with its awesome
Still loneliness: gray lizards darting through
Sun-glinted sands ... How could I say goodbye
To him and leave? Cold-shrouded clouds dipped low.
White miracle of dawn! Glad was my cry
To see the prairie beautified by snow.
