Spoken of as if they were a golden past--
Heritage faded to sweetened memory--
Husbandry lost to modern times
To be chronicled now as a “motif.”

But with every spring I prune them
(Angle, thickness, length, and buds),
Dig the ditches in the gravel soil,
Itch and harvest that late summer crop.

White towers may rise above Sagebrush Hill--
A beacon from Willow Creek to the Malad--
But some will continue to tug the weeds
And strive to make the best of the wind-fall.

08/15/2010

Author's Note: Begun at the groundbreaking of the Brigham City Temple.

Posted on 08/16/2010
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes