They say to their mothers,
Where is corn and wine?
Nothing comes in from the fields,
The children of my people starve;
A famine of hearing the Word of the Lord.
When they swooned as the wounded
In the streets of the city.
The enemy prowls from house to house,
Devouring those he desires.
When their soul was poured out
Into their mothers’ bosom
There were none to hear.
Too late, too far, too long.
The Bible Bistro 