Gathering my scattered thoughts together
in the splendour of this Autumn afternoon
I think back to the harvest of the maize
that opened distant vistas to my gaze.
The leafless twigs now rattle
before the icy breeze.
Worship of nature may be secular
Even so, the creator knows
how all that he made
Only we have spoiled it,
bent it out of shape.
It’s plain to see
we need to be
You will find other interpretations of these words at Brenda’s Sunday Whirl.