Gene L. Horne
Gene L. Horne, 73, passed away on July 11, 2021, my sister, the bravest and most caring person I have ever known. I would like to share her poem with you.
“Spring—North Carolina” written in 1970 by Gene L. Horne.
In April, I often wonder how my daffodils fare without the daily touch of loving hands to care for them—to water and weed their fertile bed of earth: to brush away the healthy, sprawling weeds and to water the soft, yellow petals and thick, green stalks. I often wonder how my flowers fare without the one who loved them.
But other hands now care for you, cater to you, bow to you—Nature’s soft, gentle hands: the long, slender fingers of the rain wash the dust and insects from your little petals, the wind sweeps away golden grains of powdery pollen that have gathered upon your petalled lapels, and the bumblebee upon feathery feet pauses to smell your fresh, crisp fragrance.
If I were with you today at your annual yellow—spring convention, I would choose two flowers from amidst your blooming group and place them in a tall, clear, colorless drinking glass and set this simple vase on my bedroom windowsill. And deep, deep in the night, when the moon shed its lonely white glow upon my restless body and the earth slept,
I would rise from my bed and tiptoe to the window to see the moonlight lying upon your petalled lips and to feel the tender, exquisite, velvety softness of delicate yellow petals between my fingertips.
And one fresh May morning, and through my bedroom windows, when the sun shines a golden shaft of light across the brown, wooden floor, and the wind softly shakes the white curtains to and fro, and the robin whistles his punctilious tune at dawn, and my thoughts begin to flow up and down and across the globe of my body,
I shall remember that I who once gathered flowers have gone away, but the flowers will remain, the flowers will stay, they will stay; and though I am far, far away, I shall forever hope that the gentle wind will send their sweet perfume to me.