Читать книгу Psalms of Gratitude and Prayer - John J. Brugaletta - Страница 14

Why is my head a stone, my heart dry wood?

Have I drunk poison and am paralyzed?

Once towering, how am I now downsized?

I creep and crouch who early marched and stood.

These are declining days of febrile light,

of wizened biceps, quadriceps of wax.

A desperate inhabitant of shacks,

I have misplaced my attitude and height.

It may be for the best. I’ve died before,

or almost did: on mountain roads, in slums;

when pocket-poor, while feeding on scant crumbs,

and sizing up for taste the shoes I wore.

But now at least I’m grateful for this least:

my height now grown by having been decreased.