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30 x 40 oil on canvas

The Little Bird

The little bird is calling, It wishes to return.
The little bird is wounded, It cannot fly but yearn.
It’s captured by the vultures, Crying bitterly,
Oh, to see my nest again, Oh, to be redeemed.

The little bird of silver, So delicate and rare,
Still chirps amongst the vultures,
Outshining all that’s there.
How long, how long it suffers, How long will it be,
When will come the eagle, And set the little bird free.

The little bird is Yisroel, The vultures are our foes,
The painful wound is Golus, Which we all feel and know,
The nest is Yerushalayim, Where we yearn to be once more,
The eagle is the Moshiach, Whom we are waiting for.

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