The other day I happened upon
a forum on NPR
a rabbi’s words illumined
a mood as black as tar:
when optimism can’t be had
we must insist on hope,
and keep in mind the difference
as we walk this slippery slope.
I opened the window this morning
Die Zauberflöte silvered the air!
the crimson Papageno,
the high-headed Chanticleer!
Corny it may be
but I need to think it so
the return of morning birdsong
as rabbinical treetop echo.
Oddments 