THE EGYPTIAN

It was the saddest morning.
My mother cried and cried.
The shadows all were mourning,
where my eldest brother had died.

The slaves called it a blessing.
The pharaoh called it a curse.
But it came from the heavens,
and reached my house first.

The kingdom was so shaken,
it staggered day and night.
Our strength was everso taken
that the slaves took flight.

My father took up his armor;
took up his favorite sword.
And rallying his anger,
joined the pharaoh's hordes.

They found them under noon's sky
with all their poverty owned.
The horsemen were on standby
'til the slaughter horns were blown.

The slaves saw flashing spearheads,
and ran against the sea.
Then, I think, my father
thought of my brother and me.

The advancing order was given.
The chariots rolled in packs.
But a stunning fire had risen,
to stop them in their tracks.

The slaves wheeeled 'round in terror,
and marched into the flood.
Someone is their ally,
but not of flesh and blood.

The fire made end of stalling;
the soldiers bore down on the slaves.
Then the wall of waves came falling
to grant them watery graves.

My father was an Egyptian
whose pride got in his way.
He warred against God's children,
and drowned in armor one day.