“Power,” Ensign, Aug. 1978, 5


    If poetry were blocks of stone

    And songs were solid ice,

    I could cover up the desert

    And engulf the mountain heights.

    If all my hopes were cast in flesh

    And all my loves in bone,

    I could populate a universe

    By will and mind alone.

    But if my fears had voices—

    Were my angers strong of hand—

    They could crush that same young universe

    As he rises to bear his testimony.

    I can hear the distant tones

    of velvet strings

    When the eyes of Grandmother Wooley

    Stare back from the photograph

    And awaken within me a memory of things lost,

    Indeed, things never known,

    ’Til now.

    And sometimes,

    a sudden answer to my prayer

    at Dawn

    Steals softly past the clutter

    of the Noon.