The striped and shapely Maple grieves
the loss of her departed leaves.
The ground is hard, as hard as stone.
The year is old. The birds are flown.
And yet the world, nevertheless,
displays a certain loveliness --
The beauty of the bone. Tall God
must see our souls this way, and nod.
Give thanks: we do, each in his place
around the table during grace.
- John Updike, November. A Child's Calendar.