He died, the last leader-in-prayer,
Locked-up stands for lonely the Synagogue Hall
The windows all boarded, and shadows
Embarrassed, I’m making full.
It lays, like eternal grieving
All over the naked walls
And under the Crown of Glory:
Broken rest to Priestly hands.
He died, the last leader-in-prayer,
There’s no one to walk to the lectern.
Languishing flickers the flame, the eternal
Himself in his corner alone.
And hushed on the steps to the Ark- Scrolls
The Shechina, the desolate, stands;
Her head bowed low in deep sorrow
And black as the night is her dress.
And it seems that her lips move in murmur
A whispered last pleading request,
And there’s a voice heard form the Ark-tapestry-cover
Too late, my devoted, too late!
-Rahel Gil
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