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A thousand leaves had fallen
the day he chose to go,
so many thoughtful colours
perched on a drift of snow.
The preacher and his flock
were out to hike for God
collecting pious thoughts
to add to ancient stock.
They sang of truth and love
of brothers in the fold
and from the sky above
unbidden now and cold
came flakes of crystal ice,
invisible their path
a nuisance had been sent
perhaps it was God's wrath
they sang, God, we repent.
And in the tallest tree
a spider's child observes
just how a spider weaves
a net of lines and curves.
Gone was the pile of leaves.
Herbert Nehrlich
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