Blessed
How can it be –
The motions of my heart deny it;
The story I see behind me,
The imprints of my feet in the soil,
Declare that it’s not so.
Yet my eyes make my other senses fools;
Fruit grows where I had only death,
Flowers burst from the driest ground,
Trees flourish where there was no water –
How can it be?
How can it be that I should gain –
The ledger says that all is lost,
That debts like mine cannot be paid
And every day that I have lived
Has shown this to be true.
Yet my spirit sings another song;
The poor in spirit sing with me.
For blessed are the weakest and
Loudest sing those who have mourned.
In every unexpected joy –
My God, how can it be?
The Consolations of Writing 