Her Prayer

They tell her

Of prayer, fleetingly,

Tell her that without

A god to pray to,

She cannot understand

The power of whispered words.

They are wrong—

She understands.

She has prayed all her life,

For the first breath she took

And each that followed

Was a prayer,

One to her mothers that have been

And her daughters who will be

And to herself, who simply is.

Each step she takes

Becomes a prayer of thanks,

To herself, to the sunshine,

To life,

And if there is anything truer

To pray to—

She has not found it.

She smiles,

And keeps her secret

For it is they who do not understand.