Ovens of the Soul
Ovens of the Soul
The grinning teeth of idiocy
Tearing down its last defenses.
on the beach a desert wind
is howling round the dunes
Not a footprint.
Not a sound.
just the smoke that rises
from the lonely ovens of the soul
This poem originally appeared in SEASONS OF THE MOON for Adar 5759.
Written by Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair.
General Editor: Rabbi Moshe Newman.
HTML Design: Michael B. Treblow
Copyright © 1999 Ohr Somayach International.
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