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Poem: Zarephath

A few sticks for a fire,
a handful of flour,
a little oil in a jug
and a strange man asking to be fed:
not a very promising recipe for success.

A widow woman
with an ailing son,
a suspicious promise from a stranger
and a drought that showed no sign of ending:
not exactly an offering of hope for a bright future.


©Marjorie Dobson

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