There is but one face
whose holy eyes
won’t turn away,
but focus on us and weep.
Jesus, you!
like a mother hen
yearning to gather us to you,
but we would not.
for we have killed the prophets
and stoned the messengers.
Now abandoned and empty,
the stones of the temple
waiting to fall
around our ankles,
we still do not come
to you,
And, even now,
you weep
Ann Weems
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