The Dream of Love

    “The Dream of Love,” Ensign, Dec. 1990, 11

    The Dream of Love

    Mother’s cheek against my own

    Was silken as the early touch of morning;

    Like heady spikes of light

    Splintered in the prism lamp,

    The melody she hummed

    Spun in dizzy splendor

    Round the golden thread

    Of arms that safe encompassed me.

    Upon her lap my urgent hurts

    And awkward strivings seemed to melt,

    Untangled in her tender, knowing eyes.

    Such was the mother I ever longed for,

    Ever missed.

    Mine, bereft of gospel truth,

    Embittered by the barter

    Of her lifeblood spent

    For our shoes and bread,

    Bequeathed instead

    Her icy self-reliance;

    Too late I knew the worth of her

    Hard, unflinching love—

    Practical gifts of work and sustenance,

    Silent hours of groping worry,

    Ringing absences of soft and lovely things

    Her breeding almost taught her how

    To do without.

    Now, as tiny arms enfold me,

    As bright eyes see and pattern all I do,

    My soul trembles as I shape

    The legacy that I shall leave.

    I kneel to Him who fills the darkest void,

    That I may give the tools of life,

    And too, against the storm,

    The dream of love.