Let us give
While we live
Bewildered thanks to God for what we have
That isn’t in the Prayer—
Bread isn’t central air,
And we ourselves are all He’s pledged to spare.
But what diverting sights:
The curtains and the lights,
The open windows and the screens on autumn nights;
A Sheltie and a sack
Of groceries in the back
Of an old vehicle, and new tiles in a stack
On a patio—but really, who can say?
What He has given He can take away.
Our firecrackers spark
Improbably, then flick into the dark,
But His own covenant’s as steady and as stark
As an abandoned highway, or the way
He ends the colors when He ends a day.