The sun at my right hand as we near the House of Bread,
When my love shrieks in a way that freezes us with dread.
We stop afar off and lay her down to crowds of questions,
Her eyes amiss in pain as we make our blind suggestions.
Why does her heart beat so loud? I swear I hear a drum!
I’m not losing her, am I? My Lord, what’s going on?
She yells giving birth and dies whispering “Ben Oni”,
O sun of my right hand! What have you taken from me…
~Poet of Ephraim