To thank You is a gift
one gives oneself,
Having felt the fullness of one's being.
As You might--or not--be listening,
None knows more than his own gratitude.
Knowledge is beside the point, the gulf
So wide between us there's no hope of seeing.
Gifts require givers, so one sings
In thanks that in oneself some grace might move.
Vast quantities of thanks lie on the shelf
In wait for some fresh faith that might be
Nor ought one wait for one's own Angelus bell,
Giving one an object for one's