I was longing
For my garden,
For my flowers.
I was yearning
To see bougainvillea
Bowers.
Poinsettias, bloody red;
With a hot sun overhead;
For trees which do not shed
Leaves in showers.
I was wishing
For the beaches
And the sun
As the water takes it
When the day
Is done.
I was thinking of a street
Which was never clothed in sleet,
But would quiver in the heat
Of the sun.
Then God sent snow.
It fell and anchored softly
On the trees.
It was even wafted gently
By the breeze;
Covering unsightly spots,
Making beaches of grass plots,
Making man-made scars and blots
Sweetly clean.
Then I passed a florist's window
In the snow,
And I saw the flowers
Luxuriantly grow;
Poinsettias, hotly red;
And my heart, which lately bled,
Was soothed and calmed, instead,
By their glow.
Elizabeth Sanderson Chambless
Cinncinnati Times-Star March 6,
1929
