Thankful

by M. Elaine Moore         
    
Last minute Thanksgiving details,
     and trip into town.
He stands along the roadside,
     fighting the bitter wind.
Tattered coat, torn gloves,
     boots having seen a thousand miles.
A single plea written on cardboard.
There will be no feast for him,
     no warm bed tonight.
I stop to offer hot cocoa and cash,
     and I say, "God bless you, sir."
A solid nod in return. "He does. Every single day."
The man smiles around a hundred wrinkles,
And I learn the meaning of thankful.