By Bess Samuel Ayres
I tried to heal the Shunammite;
I held my staff in vain;
My lies, my greed for worldly goods
Brought old Elisha pain.
I coveted the kingly robes,
The gold of Naaman’s hands;
I wove the lie of prophet’s sons,
And ran across the sands.
And now I wear this tarnished robe
Amid these hills and stones
And live among the leper tribe,
With bleached and dying bones.
I might have worn Elisha’s cloak,
As prophet, healer, seer,
Instead, I chose this gaudy coat, —
And now I perish here.