“At My Daughter’s Baptism,” Ensign, Mar. 1980, 65
And Eve … was glad, saying: Were it not for our transgression, we never should have had seed, and never should have known … the joy of our redemption (Moses 5:11).
Child, see the fawn high-bounding,
vaulting the road, tracing the leaping doe
to the spring spurting around the pipe wounding
the soft earth. You know
the water, the toes gripping the wet stones,
the cupped hand running over, the slow
drinking, the glad moans.
Now hear the dawn’s great trumpet blasting
gold fanfare over the ridge: green
aspens shiver in the rushing sound, a casting
of bright echoes between
the summit and the far mountains. The peacock may
proceed to spread his burning eyes, to preen,
to strut across the day.
Tonight, beyond the dusty hours, when the coals
lie like hot-bellied clouds within
the glowing pit and the night like airy stoles
upon our shoulders, the thin
veils that keep us from the stars will fly
loose in the night wind, and we will spin
glass cartwheels in the sky.