I've been contemplating gratitude a lot lately, and particularly today. Somehow I linked back to this tiny poem written in my 30's. It doesn't matter what inspired it originally; I can think of at least half a dozen of my life experiences that I could apply it to.
(Untitled)
How can I make account for these, your gifts?
The bill would be past mere reckoning,
Requiring celestial algebra and
A thousand Einsteins cursing and sweating
Beyond infinite measure, beyond time.
Better to let the mathematicians rest
And wonder at the fact
No price has ever been asked
For the wheeling stars
Resurrected to me.
(1996)
Ah yes, those gifts...the ones that so often I feel are more dormant than active and visible. Great poem: Check! Toes stepped on: Check!
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