“Gathering,” Ensign, July 1989, 46


    Second Place

    Once elegant in white, she stood beside

    The man she chose to build with; years would flow

    Until she held his photograph and cried.

    His death forced hand, not heart, to let him go.

    She kept their hand-built home; as days would pass,

    She hung the portraits, watched her babies grow,

    Saw their reflections in her polished brass,

    Then one by one, she let the children go.

    Alone, she named old photos one by one,

    Blessed loved ones with the care she could bestow,

    Found pleasure in a grandchild’s eyes—then done,

    Her family must do the letting go.

    Together, husband, wife, can now begin.

    Their final and eternal gathering in.