Gratitude Poem by Muhammed Ramon

What is their sin, these souls with limbs now lost,
Their bodies altered by fate's cruel, swift blow?
They bear the weight of life's unbidden cost,
Yet strength within them, deeper still, will grow.

Upon the bed where sickness takes its claim,
They lie, aware their days are numbered few.
What is their sin? To bear this nameless flame,
While fragile hours slip like morning dew.

And though no wealth nor basic need be near,
How could we pay for life's unmeasured grace?
To Him alone belongs the price so dear
Why not give thanks beneath His boundless space?

And if we join the ranks who suffer so,
Still thanks we give—His mercy makes us whole.