Thanksgiving

The thanks I offer, God, are not for earth:
The softness of the snow, like angels' wings,
Quicksilver slants of rain, the harvest gold,
A last red leaf that rustles as it clings.
I have no breath to thank you now for nights
When stars are diamonds on a frozen sky,
For tawny moons, for apples in the sun,
For azure mist as fragile as a sigh.
I thank you, God, for eyes and ears and touch
That garner beauty for the heart to hold,
And for the soul that treasures loveliness,
And your eternal goodness, as of old.