Poems (Howard)/The Mission of the Flowers

by Hattie Howard

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.