Giving Thanks

As much as I have blasphemed against my Creator,

He should have turned me to a bat or bee,
But despite the worse depression had to offer,
He never, no not once, abandoned me.

Nor was I left to welter in corruption,

My talent rotting in an early grave.
Despite my straightened life, so interrupted,
From every peril, He did surely save.

Whatever evil's sick triangulation,

He pulled me through and all my dangers quelled.
My voice fell prey to frequent strangulation
But He never left His holy one in hell.

I don't regret the misery or fog,

Nor all the wrestling angels sent by God

Carl Estrin