Poetry by Charlie Gould

BLESSED, BE.

I watched a cleric in the ward,
As she touched each bedside patiently;
She stopped, stared, and leaned-in toward
Each one and murmered, "Blessed, Be."

A simple phrase, but one of power,
As each life heads to it's appointed hour;
And then she stopped right there by me!
Looked down, and uttered, "Blessed, Be."

I thought about that phrase for days,
And how it applied in so many ways;
And so, to those taking care of me,
I whispered the two words, silently.

"Blessed, Be."

Blessed, be the Healers,
Blessed, be the ill,
Blessed, be those who are not,
But someday will.

Blessed, be the young,
Blessed, be the old,
Blessed, be the loved -
Whose stories will be told.

I'm not religious, but felt the strength
In that little phrase of little length;
And I'm sure that somewhere He, or She,
*Always* hears the words, "Blessed, Be."

--Charlie Gould*

*"Works and plays well with others, and does not eat his young."