Written by Jane Ellis Morrow, Jane Trigère’s mother, for her high school yearbook. Click here to view her other writings.

Prayer At Spring:

God, give me power to say what’s in my heart;
It’s very full, and each throb seems to say
That it will burst unless I find some way
To pour all it holds, to let depart
From my tortured soul without delay,
In words of depth and power, that which would pay
Homage to this beauty, this sharp dart,
That pierced my very soul. How can you give
The spring, the languid-scented airs, and higher,
The depthless blues of skies, new living green–
Such beauties in a world where we must live–
And then deny the words, the voice, the lyre
To sing the glories of the things we’ve seen.


I know I’ll learn someday to be more wise
Than now. I’ll learn that laughing, friendly eyes
Can hold deceit, treachery, and lies.

I’ll find in the name of prudence, that I need
To count the cost ere any generous deed–
That more than right, conventions I must heed.

And life, will take my dearest dreams from me
And leave instead of them cold eyes to see
The dreadful harshness of reality.
Oh, life will give me all this bitter truth
At last. And then I will have lost… my youth.