Counting blessings!

Splotches of dirt,
Neat crisp shirt,
Crumpled to ruins.
Shreds of fabric,
Missing.

The black shoes,
Turned all brown;
Socks with holes,
Toes protruding,
Shameless.

Disheveled hair,
Streaks of mud,
Hardened grime,
Sticking allover,
Slimy.

Spots of blood,
Splattered all over,
Blackened eyes,
And bruised arms,
Sore.

Exasperated, I stand,
Cursing the heavens.
Holding him close,
Anger and despair,
Welling in.

"Why, oh why, do you,
Create such troubles,
For you and me?"
I ask loud, outright,
Sighing.

And he grins, sprightly,
The little face, blushing red.
In all innocence, he pouts,
"Oh, mom! the game was neat,
I smashed a goal!"

And I can't help, but laugh,
At the cherubic smile,
Animatedly he goes on,
Chattering of what-not!
And I smile.

And, I smile,
Counting my blessings,
A one and two, and three, and ....!