Wind rustling on mountain grass
as the word comes from a man far away.
Happy are the poor.
Happy are the poor in spirit.
Theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
The people look around,
puzzled by incongruous concepts.
Happy and poor.
Am I happy enough to be poor in spirit?
Am I poor enough to be happy?
Is my spirit so in need and desperate
that I can cling to the one that can make me holy?
Is my life so rich that I can forsake it all?
Happy. Poor. Heaven.