“The Amber Yield,” Ensign, Mar. 1984, 55
Against the wind he struggled
To reap the honest grain
of hard-sown seeds.
among unruly weeds, he wept
remembering self-promises unkept,
and golden, unplucked fruit
on heavy bough
surrounded by quick thorn
and thistle now.
So darkly, through the glass he sees,
which later comes,
Yearning for established trees
long-distant from this foreign place.
sorrow cannot show
upon what kindly greening field,
plowed by time and weary tread,
awakening from dormancy of years,
sprout and grow,
and amber yield,
the seeds you dropped unnoticed,
and watered with your tears.