Prayer is fire
Prayer is dew
In storm she ascends
And in gentle silence

Prayer is a maid
Washing the feet of her lord
Pouring out the yearnings of her heart
unto the footstool of her master

And prayer
is a queen.
Royalty she dons
and knocks upon the king’s gates -
The sentries scatter
The gateways raise their lintels
The scepter of grace
to her is extended
and all she asks
is granted her,
And not a request
of her hearts beseech
empty returns

Why despair my spirit,
if from the buttes
of the wellsprings of salvation
that your tears pierced
and sent forth streams of redemption
to quench dwellers on high
and dwellers on low;
if from the bestowment
of dews of blessing
that your prayer brought down
from most lofty heavens
to fill the expanses of the supernal
the ends of Earth
and distant sea;

- even a single drop
did not reach
the languor of your soul...?

From the Hebrew by Yanki Tauber

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