By Frances Myrtle Atkinson Berghout
When I am old and wait the twilight call,
Though body-worn, may I with youth’s delight
Hear quiet laughter in a waterfall
While moonbeams veil the loveliness of night.
May April fingers, tapping out a song
Upon my window, bid me see the hills
With greening bluebelled carpets; and a throng
Of nodding, waving, dancing daffodils.
Let me still hear the meadow lark in spring
Playing his flute, releasing crystal showers.
Let my glad heart forget its age and sing,
Climbing the hills of thought for April flowers.
Let me hear laughter in a waterfall,
When I am old and wait the twilight call.
(Note: This poem was printed on a series of pages of poems by Frances’ mother, Mabel Law Atkinson. It was published in The Relief Society Magazine, April 1955. An alphabetical listing of Mabel’s known poems is available here.)