Dear God, Your hand is in everything.

Your hands in everything I see!

In everything I do not see also,

But what does all this mean to me?



Aside all the din of metallurgy,

The blocks, the steel, the metal fab,

This leaf demands my sole attention

A leaf, you know, it seems so drab!



Drab it is and drab it serves a purpose.

Continuing its drab futility,

A million hands that reach to God contended

Captivating drab profundity!



So what it is that is so profound about it?

What captures the dew, the rain, the sun?

Exactly!  Then what struggles to imbue it

With shade, with fruit whenever the seasons done.



(Ah yes, the lowly leaf.  I was engrossed with a philodendron,

so profuse on our porch, those tiny veins which they are!

Anyhow, when we reach out to God, what a blessing!)



Sam Cox 11.01.03

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