Hate ** Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A View Of Passing Over

I spoke with him last night,
my favourite uncle, bless
his soul, his heart and
all the riches he bestowed
upon the only one who would
on frosty nights go out to fetch
another piece for the old fireplace.
It took so little and I pleased
the man who built the church,
the bridge across the Rhine
and just before he died he spoke,
my boy, please note that in this life
all anger is just weeds but, in the end
pure hate can be admired as a tree.