Jew #9
These callus hands today that pluck my wheat
And brush the flaky fragments from thy hair
Shall rock the heir of Yahweh's royal seat
In us the prophecy configures here
Let then my love sow, and you to garner
Kingdom, child, in grassy blades raked aloud
With our desire. O hands, touch me tender
Hold me long, longer than the oath you vowed.
Say again you will not leave, nor return
From following after me, tell me how you yearn
For my dwellings, and lodge here forever
For our dreams like people's lives are tangled
In the purpose of our God, nor sever
Love from hope, and truth is joy star spangled.
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