L'Tzion

A thousand generations, give or take,

Might be enough, perhaps, to be away;

But to return--is our return to make

Another homeless? I refuse to say

That just because we've long longed for the land

We have exclusive title to it; no,

That is a horrid and a false demand

That we should flourish but no others grow.

Let us abide, ah, let us still remain,

But not at the expense of those still there.

We should best know their common source of pain

And knowing it should be a source of care.

They also love the land, and we know whyfor;

Let us not kill to have what we would die for.

Perfect Design

Nothing has been made that does not need

Upkeep and maintenance as time goes by.

Time will corrode the mountains high,

Silt up the river, set the field to seed

(Exhaust the crop and then exalt the weed),

Tear buildings down, and make their walls a sty

(Or bury them so they can't see the sky).

Time does all this not from disdain or greed

But by its nature. And so we must fight;

We must push back the power of decay

With constant work, unthankful and unceasing.

And since the shit is constantly increasing

The need for this will never go away:

But many hands can make the hard work light.