Thanksgiving
Hearts full of feeling,
Tongues short of words,
We come with bowed heads
To eat pies and birds.

“Thanks,” we whisper in mumbled tones,
Humble joy bubbling inside,
Knowing well in our bones
Less is what we deserve.
Yet the Lord doesn’t ask,
He who came to serve,
How worthy we are who stand
With open hands, slight of nerve.
He gives because his nature is giving,
And he made us, in his Spirit living,
To be empty, poverty-kissed,
That his sign of life among us
Might be Eucharist.