Sunday, May 20, 2018

Leaves by Robert Hudnut

The other day when we went walking, we
Looked for leaves to grace the dining table
And the window sills.

The yellows, reds, and golds were all astir
Across the path, which made it easy to
Reject the ones that failed to meet the test.

But what, exactly, was the test? Just how
Would we decide which leaf would make the grade
And which would not?

Soon your hands were full,
While mine held only two.

And yet, your wanton leaves, I felt, put mine
To shame, for you had gathered richly, while
The leaves that I had picked, though perfect, made

A paltry contribution when compared
To the munificence of what you brought
To grace the table and the sills.

Robert Hudnut is a former pastor, three churches; writer, thirteen books (Harper, et al); former trustee, Princeton University.

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