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Dragged from the desert

By the scruff of your stiff-neck

By the proposition of prosperity

For the sons of Jacob.

Given the miracle within the Red,

And Ten Pharaoh's Curses, firstborns

Torn from mothers’ arms in your name.

And here you are with molten idols

At the base of Sinai,

The Golden Calf of the brothers of Aaron.

The generations to come will prove you

Dishonest men.

But what of I?

Clinging still to false gods even as I

Proclaim Him.

No better than Israel itself erecting effigies

Within the temple of the Lord.

How it is with us pagans, us fools.

Time proves the ease of reversion

Or it tempers the righteous.

Either or, judgment for Abraham's sons

Comes all the same.

Embrace or depose,

Steadfast or revert.

The first shattering of the tablets

And how to put the pieces back together.