This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2003-06-17 16:24:32 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Saints

Maude was sixteen in eighteen fifty six Stood strong and sure beside mother At dawn they joined the Mormon throng        To travel the Overland Trail        Their helmsman… their God They did trek one thousand miles o’er The daunting course, wild with wolves, Vipers, bunches of boulders in piles        Indians on paints galloped atop        The Saint’s narrow pounded path Maude’s mother gave birth near the Platte Father cleared sagebrush, spooked a lone Bobcat. Baby Fanny small, frail, weak         Heart barely beat, Maude         Kissed her ashen cheek Winter loomed like a pompous parasol Poaching warmth from the sun.  Maude’s Feet felt frozen; she kept pace despite         Pulsing pain she plodded on         Little water, crumbs to eat Mother took ill and lingered till December Maude watched her die; kneeled to pray Scalded tears streaked Maude’s somber face         Hope all but gone till         Brigham Young rode along He brought Venison, corn and water Brethren bowed to thank The Father Their journey over, their faith reborn        Hoards of handcart companies         Passed over the perilous plains Hardship and death prevailed, the Mormons Reached the Utah valley and nested there “Come, Ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear”          Brave footprints bruised the clime          Moments chiseled forever in time

Copyright © June 2003 marilyn terwilleger

Additional Notes:
Another story my grandmother told me about her mother and The Latter Day Saints

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