When my story is weak,
When no family gathers around my hearth to thread dreams into beaded bracelets,
Then a venomous reptile may realize it is safe to emerge.
Do I feel no exhilaration!
For the treasures I nurtured through ages?
Where is my epic of sacrifice and glory?
Where my romance of painful longing?
My comedy of innocent humility and unexpected grace!
Will you give me a cup of sand and share me your prayers?
Then I will cherish your starry heavens!
But a dread manacle seems a lonely crown,
Heavy with sharpened stones.