On the road to Jericho
Where the desert’s mostly stone
The desert wife was walking
And met the coach alone
I watched her distant figure
Of Iron in the sun
Walking to the roadside
A strange Samaritan
She looked so old and wrinkled
So thin and so withdrawn
This woman of the desert
Shoeless and forlorn
Her distant figure walking
From horizon far away
To meet the coach from David’s town
Upon that arid day
Age was not her enemy
Survival’s her concern
The mid-day sun was stoking hot
The desert seemed to burn
The coach stopped upon the road
Halfway up a hill
I saw no-one get on or off
Perhaps she stays there still
When the coach got into Jericho
I went to walk around
Sitting in a square somewhere
Were the Arabs all around
With eyes like raisins burning
In flames of Joshua’s fire
Their frames were hard and leathery
Like leather tied with wire
Their guns were at their shoulders
Of love they seemed bereft
I went back to the station
I got the coach and left
March 31
