As the donkeys tail sways, and his voice hee haws. My vision wanders in the fog.
His brae like mine, is raspy and worn. Of all thinks a pill stuck, my throat now torn.
Fear of shame, embarrassment both he and I. Not wanting grief before we die.
Grief and the grave. You gracefully bore. Our sin muddy deceit you abhor.
You draw closest in the midst of suffering. I want your hand, or else nothing.
The palm whose hand is etched. With my name and others whom you will never forget.
Guide me, my beacon of light. Against waves, rocks, and plight.
Predicament, quandary the most dire straights. From the lions that roars, and devours bate.
To swaying grass, still waters. To butterflies mingling, to sons and daughters.
Grapes, juicy and sweet. Honey that drips like pomegranate seeds.
To bounty and beauty. To things restored, to a donkey that sings and he haws no more.