Our Land. Her springs are waiting
for the return our children’s voices from this night
The attendance women who from birth’s foundation
have with pots and skins come forth to draw, by right
Where now these hills today? The quiet of tea time?
Our carefully tended walls, their trees and crop?
And the dusty scent of grain at time of harvest
Fig, olive, orange, cheese, yogurt
And too: the watchful prayer of shepherd
in passage. Attendant care of flock
communing with this land fashioned by Our hand
and through an uncounted generation of Our stock
