The Exodus of Israel
The cock-crow hour greets the departed one.
She, with vista lids of a world so welcoming, so free,
avidly hastened into the far-flung, uncertain desert sun.
Nailed to that well-worn, well-known porch that once had sheltered her;
doted on her aching feet, her father watched on.
His precious gift, His soigné, was a woman now and had left His arms behind.
All He possessed were those accreted frames of a wide-smiling girl,
a budding, maturing rose he once had tended to and adored.
With a tear He thought of the tales he’d tell of that wide-smiling,
now wide-world gazing, girl
and drastically groped the hope that she would return
to the home where she was sown.
His precious gift, His blessed soigné,
to whom His love would be infinitely shown.
Tender is this night
where high school’s on the mind’s back-burner
and memories of youth rush back like blows
to the head.
Of last chances to create legacies
on the hardwood dance floor
between the dandy suits, flowing dresses,
jiving bodies and hidden hipflasks
under the drunken, glittered disco ball
and shocking neon lights.
‘‘Age is graceful dying.’’
We all fear the changing years.
When wrinkles make facial fault lines
and sudden pains become our greatest fears
with dreams we weren’t able to find.
So we so filled with deep-seated dread
fly away to yesterday
from the realm of walking dead
to where we hope our bodies will stay,
its energy, its life to us will be fed
and the cock’s final crow will be kept at bay.
Yet, searching for exhausted youth
will bear not joyous
but the tragic truth
that age be all-consuming and all-embracing
from the praises of Heaven,
lips of man.