Do I take for granted the breath I breathe?
When there are some who are breathing their last?
Do I take for granted that my brain sends a message
to my hand,
to open the cupboard and take out a mug?
Or that my arms can move and give a hug?
When there are some who have no limbs,
or are missing one,
or perhaps they cannot feel the warmth of the sun.
Upon their face.
Or hear sweet music when it plays.
Oh how much do I have,
that I sometimes fail to remember.
Gratitude.
To be grateful.
For all of God's gifts under the sun.
Even the simple ones.
Like the breath I breathe.