Ancestors


handcart wheels

Photo by Naomi Jensen

Wooden wheels cut
through broken ground,
carve snowy trails;
all Zion bound.
A child’s cry
a mother’s sight
as hunger grows
no food, she knows.
Weary steps
mark frosted plains
cross white-topped mounts
in cold-drenched rains.
A shallow grave
in lifeless sleep
lies a tiny babe
as parents weep.
Numbed feet trod
on frozen sod.
Cold tear-streaked cheeks
white snowflakes meet.
Handcarts pulled
by weary throng
while angels push
in silent song.
Their faith endures
though trials test.
The courageous pioneer
my life has blessed.