

Oft to my soul there comes stealing
sweet visions of consummate art:
a statue, a picture, a poem.
And there awakes in my heart
a longing to carve the fair image,
to color the picture sublime,
to sing for the world the sweet poem.
To create a great masterpiece – mine!
But e’en as I reach for my chisel
or canvas and brush, or my pen,
And open the door to fancy,
I’m brought to the present again.
An echoing laugh may recall me;
a shrill cry of pain or of fear;
a small, grimy hand on my elbow;
a sweet whispered word in my ear.
And away go my visions awinging
back to the fount whence they came;
before my untouched is my marble,
my canvas is white, my song but a name.
I turn to the needs of my babies
and gazing into their dear eyes,
I thrill with the sense of
contentment-
In their future my masterpiece lies.
Elise P. Carroll
Thank you for all of your sacrifices to make your 'masterpieces.' You've done well. We love you Mom!