Poems (Howard)/The Mission of the Flowers
The Mission of the Flowers.
Just over the way there Was crape on the door, Looped up with a ribbon of white; And I knew that a dear One had passed on before To her home in that land of delight.
I knew of the sorrow Bereavement imparts, Of grief, when a loved one is gone, And thought of the great Aching void in their hearts, Till my own was in sympathy drawn.
Low down in the valley Of shadows I know Friends walked in the deepest of gloom; And often I wondered If aught I could do Their desolate way to illume.
They were strangers to me, And no words could I say, But I thought all at once of my flowers— How often they'd driven My sorrow away, And brightened my loneliest hours.
So I gathered the loveliest Blossoms I had To send on their mission of love, And wondered if she Could look down—and be glad—From her beautiful mansion above.
My flowers spoke for me, And touched a heart-chord That thrilled in responsiveness true; And echoed the joy That became my reward That the "mission of flowers" I knew.