[John Asherah]

In my lap, I again hold him.
In lamentation beyond tears,
I cradle his broken body,
Where he had been and is no more.

How they pierced and flayed my boy.
I recall the babe,
His head upon my shoulder.
I try to believe he is sleeping.

He feeds the hungry, heals the afflicted,
And offers hope to those eaten alive by despair.
For this, he is tortured and murdered.
Their worst they save for the best.