The little Father lay.
The church was hushed for a moment;
Then a great throng knelt to pray.
Grave priests and censer-bearers
In the chancel softly trod,
While music and the incense
Rose like a flower to God.
All at once, along the transept,
A little figure sped,
Laid something on the casket,
And then, in a panic, fled.
There on the sombre velvet
Lay an offering, not planned --
A bunch of dandelions,
Warm from the little hand.
A kind priest found the youngster,
Who raised his hanging head.
"He was good to my sick Mamma,
And prayed when she died." he said.
--Charles Ballard -photo by Taci Yuksel