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.