“To a Child Gone,” Ensign, July 1976, 5
To a Child Gone
I thought I was ahead of you in line.
You would take your turn
After I took mine,
Like we did before.
I guess you don’t need new shoes
For starting heaven,
Or a light left on against the dark
The way I always did.
But I’m so used to parenting.
I wanted just to be there—
To do whatever needed to be done.
But you went first.
And now, my little one,
Suddenly you are my senior.
Morning, I know, will come.
But, bring close your light—
This time it is I who fear the night.