(Dedicated to Healers of the Mind)
How new to her the sun-up ray--
I heard her softly speak His name.
Along the hyacinthine way
Of morning-wonderment she came.
Her eyes, when they were turned on me,
Were April violets, first-seen;
Her voice a pristine psalmody
That curved through blossom-fronded green.
"A miracle!" she cried--her eye
Swift-following a bluebird's flight
Until it blended with the sky--
"This rising day, renascent-bright!"
Her arms up-spread, she sang, "I know
The triumph over death and stone!
I breathe the breath these gardens blow,
Their living song, my own!"
Again she spoke His name ... I knew
To her returned from mind-dark tomb,
The sky was resurrection-blue
Above the white of lily-bloom.