Ten of us grew, each a young alchemist
Blending our laughter with toil into play;
Drinking in awe from the sky's Milky Way;
Holding in April, a violet-tryst.
Seeing how pines reaching high could resist
Hurricane wrath and grow taller each day,
Stately we grew to touch God; knelt to pray
Talking with Him night and morning. Joy-kissed,
Working in wheat field, we found He was there.
Often at dawn we were standing tiptoe
Mounting a dream while the mysteries of earth
Challenged our daring--When lark-anthemed air
Calls, "It is April!" still ten of us go,
Silvered and tall, to the shrine of our birth.
