by KJ Hannah Greenberg
A small, yellow apple fell
From our plastic-covered table, where my
Little, light-haired lads did smell
The juice, the bread, and ably
Blessed the stars above, which blinked
Then shone on their sweet heads,
In our brief cozy of a home,
Built from sky above our beds.
First Shema, next words that graced
Shechinah, whispered softly, shaped
Brachot ‘round our outdoor space,
Buttressing our trust in Him, Most Lofty.
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