A hare hopped in front of my lights, I slowed
Unwilling to crop nature’s growth
It was a black smear against the white of snow
A monograph, a silhouette, a child’s hand in front
Of a light casting shapes on the wall.
I thought it a small miracle that while we
With our warmth and fire, our power and science
Could fear the coming snows and its deathly stir;
Could foresee a lack of civilised paths.
And yet this hare, without fear stepped,
Casually through the world.
I did not think of God and his creation -
I did not think of spiritual blessings
But the hare, unknowing of my thoughts
Gave sure firm hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment