Even Reading Goes Slower On a 'Fast Day
Even Reading goes slower on a 'Fast Day'
How can there be a Poem
From a mind so languid?
In the midsummer heat of Eretz Yisrael
I think again-
Of the years of exile
So many lives I know so little about –
We have returned
We are here
This is the great thing –
I will soon walk up the hill to Mincha
Do we need the Sorrow still,
When there is the Gratitude of being here again?
A Poem perhaps for this day also
And still eight hours until the fast ends.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Added by Poetry Lover
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