by Gideon Burton
from "In Burning Vision: Sonnets on Joseph Smith" (2005)
It had been raining, softly, through the leaves,
as though to clean the elms, the forest floor,
to douse again the April earth that heaves
its greens to bluest heaven--pleasant chore.
Unlike the sweat and dust of farming days,
the breaking of the sharp, unyielding soil,
to plant again, to hope for warming rays
that sleeping seeds may feel them and uncoil
to burst from shriveled darkness into light,
as though to answer heaven's calling sun
who visits us with columns of his might,
who gives us knowledge pure where there was none.
It fell to Joseph Smith as light, as rain:
First, vision, tiny root of godly gain.
Photo: flickr - Aquistbe