Is this the day the Lord has made? Monday?
Running back to work with Sunday’s tasks undone —
Housework, yard work and a funeral, no weekend fun
For me, still tired from Saturday’s service. I pray
That next week the Sabbath angels will stay
More than a few minutes before they run
Out my door in haste before the setting sun
Hits a dozen other homes. “Rest, at least until I say
Kiddush before you continue down your angelic way”
I suggest. But they’re out the door before I’m done.
At best their scent lingers as faint as cinnamon
Which spilt when I dropped the spice box yesterday
Now there’s still some beds to weed and the lawn to seed
But an hour with angels is what I really need.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem