The whole head is sick,
And the whole body fails.
From the bottom of thy feet
Even unto the hair of thy head
There is no soundness in it;
But wounds, and bruises and
Putrefying sores; they have not bound up,
Neither has been closed.
And ye shall lay thy face down in demise
Of the great plans thou have laid
For these are the days of thy desert
When ye shall be cast out from the
Presence of those that bless thee
And shall be forbidden from the presence
Of those ye look upon
When little of plenty will be given,
And eat the bitterness of thy beastly days
And ye shall begin to see illusive truths
Of things ye never worked for.
Why should ye be stricken anymore?
Ye shall revive more and more
And overthrow thy bad days
And thy desert shall be revived
And thy land shall
Flourish like paradise
For the days of desert shall
Be brought to an end
And thy paradise shall flourish
For the days of desert are over.
©abiodun
A