Oh L-rd,
only wisdom,
bright as your countenance,
will shed light on my wayward path,
tonight.
Tonight,
every night…
during the days of gloom,
when there is no room for this hope
to bloom.
To bloom,
like a flower,
transplanted from soil,
depleted by war’s cruelty,
and dearth.
And dearth,
leaves us scant food,
unable to nourish
our souls with everlasting hope,
and dreams.
And dreams,
vanish in sync
with the early morning
air raids, that signal a new day,
oh L-rd.
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