Blessed is He . . .

Short black hair with streaks of silver throughout.
Darkly tanned and deeply lined face.
Bright green eyes full of childlike wonder.
Joyous, peaceful, buck-toothed grin.
A halting gait, yet certain of his way.
I ask how he is doing and lean in close to hear.
“I am blessed,” he slurs softly yet assured. “I am blessed.”
I walk away, silent and astonished.
Here passed a simple man with a simple faith,
And I just witnessed him move a mountain;
A mountain of a heart turned to stone,
Placed by a supposedly more intelligent soul,
Who lost herself in the details of life and forgot
What it truly means to be a child of God.