Thy Bountiful Blessings (Oh, Lord)

At supper’s grace, and young, we dutifully bowed our heads,

and, hands folded and tucked under our chins, we gave

thanks for Thy bountiful blessings, oh Lord,

my sainted father going on and on down the entire

litany of gifts bestowed and gifts received

as the smell of my mother’s cooking drifted up

to our little noses, silently sniffing, anticipating

her culinary prowess, an artistry over which she had labored

much that day, but a blessing my father neither remembered

nor mentioned in this evening prayer; and the steam

of mashed potatoes and gravy piled high on our plates

dissipated as they cooled, much too quickly

in his sustained gratitude, prolonged

and drawn out, and I often wondered if perhaps God

tired of it, too, joining us here for a cold supper,

for which we give thanks for Thy bountiful blessings,

oh, Lord, yet again. Amen.