Waiting

By Christine Spencer

The November Ensign came today—

One for me.

But I couldn’t open it,

Knowing what was there.

How could I?

Inside were the words

I had felt.

Inside was that Spirit

Again.

Inside was Conference—

The best one so far—

The living moments at whose close

I had cried.

So there it sat

On the kitchen counter,

Unlocked treasure

Filling its pages,

Its power

Bursting

From the seams,

Glowing

From beneath the cover.

I couldn’t open it—

That book in all its

Energy,

Glory.

So it sat there,

Waiting.