Two Sprigs of Myrtle

The Color of HeavenArtscroll

Seasons of the Moon Poetry


Two Sprigs of Myrtle

He was hurrying between
the twighlight's embers
To welcome the Shabbos Queen.
In his hands - two sprigs of myrtle
To guard, To remember
The Hand unseen.

And all those years we spent
Up to our necks,
Our souls were clothed
In nothing more than sand -

We could burn the world
With eyes of fire,
But it's enough,
It's enough -
That there are two
Such as you and I.


    SOURCES:
  • Talmud Shabbt 33b

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This poem originally appeared in SEASONS OF THE MOON for Iyar 5757.
Written by Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair.
General Editor: Rabbi Moshe Newman.
HTML Design: Michael B. Treblow

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