a community mourns.
But what redeems the loss?

Eight Words of praise
chiseled by the wind of time
carved by years of loss

the Kaddish stands
on the hill asking
mourners to stand

always on the hill
crafted to mend broken hearts
uplift the fragmented spirit

Its rhythm anchors
ships tossed at

Each syllable
adds the needed weight
to moor each boat to the shore

— © Abraham Menashe