This fallen leaf caught in my hand,
Far more than I can understand,
Insists I ask in accents loud
How I can hold myself too proud
To be a part of air and clod,
One with Nature; one with God.
(Usually I want to know
What kind of apples it helped grow;
And wonder, for my garden’s sake,
What sort of compost will it make?)
by Ray Romine Wednesday, October 17, 1951
