A
dusty laughter scuffles in the streets
And
calls the faithful to a bitter thought;The youthful gangs, the madmen and the cheats
Denounce a way of life they never sought.
The
poorest man puts butter on his bread
And
takes a little sugar with his tea.The temple scribe can only scratch his head
And think of gentle winds far out at sea.
The
treasure in the bunkers falls asleep,
Its
guards play dice and do not watch the doors;The faithful find it difficult to weep
And cannot find forgiveness for old scores.
At
Sinai a jealous God awaits;
But
no-one stumbles from the ill-hung gates.
====================
© March 1980