Look, real close, you'll see the 'Tare,'
A tad taller than Wheat, when ripe,
Early removal, Death, wheat would share,
At Harvest, Tare can't hide it's 'Stripe.'
By Arley Steinhour 052712
(Day 50, of Omer, Sivan 3, 5772)
[Day of 'Counting,' Feast of God]
The silence of the morning,
lay upon my waking ear,
Soft hum of Conditioner, moaning,
In this, fresh hot time of year.
Sunlight fills the window pane,
Through sky, so crisp and blue,
At least, for hour, be no rain,
Praying for ways to glorify you.
In Jerusalem, until Sunset,
We're deep in Shavuot,
Discharging Harvest Vent,
Saving Wheat, from Tare (or 'goat').
You told Apostles a firm 'Do not,
Remove Tare from crop of wheat,
Until Harvest, when Angels cut the lot,
To salvage, God's last bit of Salvation meat.'
The Tare, well tied, and set aside,
To feed to the Fires of Hell,
Wheat inside Barn, for Heaven ride,
God's Blessing, All Sin, now Repel.
Soon, your Harvest is complete,
the question, one might ask,
Repentance Grace, no more entreat,
Naught left but Sin-Judging-Task.
Today, our Congregation heart,
Conjoin, to worship you,
Celebration of your Harvest,
That keeps us 'Fat,' and True.
The 'Binders,' soon be finished,
Tare then taken away,
Thrown in the Fire, be punished,
Redeemed, to Worship Eternal DAY.