Thursday, June 24, 2010

in fisher park

by arnold schnabel

illustrations by rhoda penmarq

In Fisher Park I heard a lark;
‘Twas the first or perhaps the second day of Spring.
I ceased my rambles and sat upon a mossy rock --
The better for to hear him (or her) sing.

The song he sang (or was it she?)
Drilled deeply into my unworthy soul:
“Cheep cheep!” sang he or she to me, most wretched me,
And, yes, I wept, and soon lost all control.

In Fisher Park I met a young lad
In Wintertime, with cheeks of rosy apple glow;
He showed me what I knew not I had:
An innocence buried ‘neath frozen snow.

In Fisher Park I met a young girl
In Summertime, and like a flower was she;
She put my crazéd brains into quite a whirl
But in the end showed peace to me.

In Fisher Park I met an ancient priest,
Mumbling his daily office (yes, ‘twas Fall);
He told me that of men I was the very least,
But that to Jesus this meant nothing at all.

In Fisher Park I heard a lark,
I met a lad, a girl, a wise old priest;
What did I learn in my ramblings through the glades of Fisher Park?
Only this: that God loves every man and beast.


Dan Leo said...

Heh heh -- poor Arnold -- you brighten up his strange little world, Rhoda.

Old 333 said...

Grand stuff. Punch magazine should be so lucky.

human being said...

what a journey! so healing!

really enjoyed reading it...

kathleenmaher said...

Great collaboration of our finest artists. Arnold's a true seeker; rhoda portrays him beautifully.