Barren Woman's Prayer

I who am childless see a hunger there
For more than new-made loaves and cherry pies.
There is a spirit-hunger in his eyes,
A love unfed, a craving for the care
Of one who holds him special. With an air
Of nonchalance he laughs but his heart cries
For childhood's joyous heritage with skies
Rainbowed with deep affection ever fair.

Yet she who feeds his body fails to see
He needs the manna of her arms, her kiss,
Her tender words, her love's sure alchemy
To feed his soul within its chrysalis--
These hungry lads, help me to feed and bless,
Who having mothers still are motherless.

Oasis of Home

The home
Our childhood knew
Becomes a cool oasis
Where we return to be refreshed
From deserts of disappointment.

The Relief Society Magazine

Young Alchemists

I was but one of ten young alchemists
Who blended toil with laughter into play;
Who always held their April beauty-trysts
With violets and drank from the Milky-Way;
Who knew how straight and tall a pine could grow
Upon a sloping hill though reaching high;
Who often rose at dawn to stand tiptoe
Upon a youthful dream to touch the sky;
Who knelt around the circled chairs at night
And talked with God; in morning knelt again,
Then labored joyously within His light
And found Him in the fields of grain. These ten
Now silver-haired and far from homestead sod,
Still hold a rendezvous with joy and God.

To the Shrine of Our Birth

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.

Song of a Young Wife

My days are made
Of song--
Of wind and sun and rain--
That wings along.

My nights are made
Of stars
That sing of blue lagoons
With coral bars.

My life is made
Of joy:
A man and home and love
And a baby boy.

Scimitar and Song

Childhood Home

How dear that home whose shrine invited rest;
With children's laughter its melodic chimes;
Where twelve of us, the Master as our guest,
Stepped in and out of Heaven many times!
Deserted now and lonely, still their gleams
Its light to mark the pathway to our dreams.

Back (l-r): Vernon, Reuben, Rozella, Stella, Joseph, Orville
Seated: Myrtle, Mabel, Anine Deem Law, Francis Joseph Law, Nomah, Minerva