Another dang poem.

I don't know who to blame--
The Crossings
T.S. Eliot
or Greg Fox.

...More Than Many Sparrows
Our Father
Who art in Heaven;
Hallowed be Thy name
that hangs on my lip
as I mutter my prayers
with Your Cross between
my finger and thumb
as they rub together
like the friction between
my todays & tomorrows
wearing away the shirt I wear
(Lord, can I afford a new one?)
but I am worth more
than the grass of the field
(or at least that's what You said)

so

give us this day
our daily bread
and more,
for the excess
that will give me
comfort
and I, alive,
as Thou provides,
will praise
but if Thou wills
my scraping by,
then I'm not so sure
that I can promise that

but

Thine is the Kingdom
mine is the worry
Thine is the Power
mine is the worry
Forever and ever,
mine is the worry.

Amen.