The Lilacs were as trees,
Left lone to grow down near the marsh,
Where the meadowlarks swayed upon the cat-tail reeds,
And where the Canada Geese passed over, honking farewell.
The Lilacs were clouds of soft purple suspended,
At the tips of a wandering weave of branches,
Creating shelter for a little boy run-off from home.
The Lilacs were as mother's arms,
A quilt of comfort in a deepening night,
Making a very big universe so filled with vast stars but a cozy tent.
The Lilacs were whispers, night breeze whispers,
That made almost friendly the haunting calls of the bob-o-links
Settled for the night in the farmer's fields.
The Lilacs were dream makers,
Filling a little boy's dreams with the playtime of angels,
Keeping watch, a divine watch, through a soul's first night alone.