The fifth last word

As the frog seeks its spawning ground,

I yearn for the waters of new life.

As the child wails for its mother’s breast,

I crave your loving tenderness.

As the hunger striker is starved of a reprieve,

I cry out for justice, or at least for mercy.

As one whose eyes are forever dimmed,

I thirst for the glory of God.

This entry was posted in Holy Days, poetry, prayer and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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