I MET HIM IN THE WOOD

I met him in the wood,

Saying prayers on old beads,

He talked of the Mass,

And Confession his favourite themes:

He said we were lonelier than before,

Although we had everything and more:

He half blessed me as he spoke,

The blackbird never took a pen and wrote,

The dark runs into frosted fields,

And a crow knows when it is time to yield:

God is everywhere I thought,

The more I read the less I sought:

He bade me God speed,

Then on the bank I saw a little weed,

Does God worry about a thing so small?

Or does He care about us at all