Blessed Poverty

This heart-scraping poverty,

This emptiness of hand,

This hunger that expects nothing,

Yet dares dream the impossible 

And knows that everything is gift…

This alertness of spirit—

Not the satiated somnolence of riches 

The queasy fullness of so much had

That there is no room for hope—

Blessed be this poverty 

Which enriches our eyes with the sparkle of stars,

The crispness of evening wind,

The breath of mountain air,

Dizzy with birdsong.

Blessed be this emptiness which enlarges our spirits

To receive the grandeur of the universe

Stamped into each tiny cell

Of each created thing

Humble and poor

Gifts like ourselves. 

9 thoughts on “Blessed Poverty

    1. Thanks, Monti! We know what it’s like to grow poor but have tons of adventures, right? Can’t beat a fresh snowfall up a mountain road or floating in a lake staring up at the glacier-rimmed sky!

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