“Visiting Nauvoo,” New Era, Sept. 2001, 27
Nothing seemed real
until I saw the sturdy brick and
the creeping river
and felt the humid warmth on
I turned at a stirring,
but tall grasses merely bowed to
and fresh fences peaked their way
across the swaying fields.
Then out of a sunny glint on
a town moved toward me.
The air thickened with voices
whispers from youth, wisdom from
all bustled by me, hurrying, hurrying.
A muddy hound ran and sat at my feet,
thumped his tail once, twice,
then bounded along.
A horse whinnied at my ear, and
shading my eyes,
I looked up into the face of Hyrum.
He smiled and waved and turned his
impatient mount away.
A woman approached,
children circled about her like a
and before I could speak,
Emma smiled, nodded, and
I moved toward the river, away from
the crowded street,
into tranquil shade of wizened
I saw a man sitting,
gazing across the land,
And Joseph stood, dear Joseph,
and smiled and gripped my hand.
And I wept as their lives flooded