Before the Ravens
No rain and no bread
for long endless days;
the land is half dead
from idolatrous ways.
The prophet is hid
from the wrath of the king;
to do as God bid
was a dangerous thing.
By Kerith a brook
flows in trickle and stream,
to those who might look
like a mirage and a dream.
By Kerith a man
now covers his head
as he lies on the sand
and waits as if dead.
Colt of an Ass
I am nothing special,
I only bear my Lord
through Zion's dusty gates.
They sing vain Hosannas,
cloaks spread on the earth,
palms triumphantly waving,
none seeing or knowing me;
but in all this chanting crowd
I alone serve the one they hymn.
