A voice says, ‘Cry’,
and another asks, ‘What shall I cry?’
‘That all mankind is grass,
they last no longer than a flower of the field.’
–Isaiah 40:6
Do not droop, Stasiu, like a summer bloom
because see, we move closer, closer to the door.
And the prophet cries we’ll be home soon.
Yes, Ruta, it was a long ride and crowded too.
But the prophet says our freedom he’ll restore,
so do not droop, Stasiu, like a summer bloom.
How big the ocean? What’s the weight of the moon?
What questions Ruta! They grow evermore.
And the prophet cries we’ll be home soon.
I ask the Holy One, we are blessed by whom?
Why then are we just dust on the floor?
Do not droop, Stasiu, like a summer bloom.
Look, see the downy feather of ashen hue?
A hot breath of heaven makes it soar.
And the prophet cries we’ll be home soon.
Now off with dress, shorts, shirt and shoe—
listen to the man who stands at the door.
Do not droop, Stasiu, like a summer bloom.
See! The prophet cries. We’ll be home soon.
