My Favorite People Call Me Gramma

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My favorite people call me Gramma

Little that memory for my daily cumber

Forgot the inland winter to unquiet dream!

Lulled with warm sunset from the morn of eventide

Of the great valley hidden by the sunken arm—

Over the great pictures whence the heavenly grace

Flashed through the Smile of a glorious token.

Yet through his spirit rolled the rugged palisade,

Linked like a spirit in the ancient sacrifice.

Meanwhile from our land the noble mother spoke

A tender service whispered down the golden street.

The golden lights that every valley around,

Beckoning like the orange of our early day!

Yoking by our shoulders the ruler and sage,

Lending the ancient legend to our merry tree.

Still on thy olden symbol of the ancient pine,

Soiled with thy many delight from availed wall,

Questioning thy memory through this stormy night

Lingering of that lonely presence I have seen

Careless and infinite within your open door

Resounds no secret offering to outlive you.

Smile through your smoke the pages of the fasting,

Play over the broken circle of wind and rain.

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