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Naomi and Ruth
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By Rich Tassinari
Other Poems by Rich Tassinari


        Naomi and Ruth

             Naomi

The sun no longer shines on me,
I live my life in shadows here,
My heart is closed, I only see
That darkness falls and gathers near.

My light is buried in the cave
Where lay my husband and two boys,
Outside the cave, sad shadows save
The images of former joys.

My homeland calls me to return
And leave my two sons' widowed brides,
I'm nothing here and only yearn
For that which nourishment provides.

Although I've told them both to stay,
Be practical and start anew,
One widowed bride won't go away,
Confincing's more than I can do.

              Ruth

I will not leave who seems to be
Like heart and soul, a part of me,
She's right, I've food and shelter here,
Yet with her, something else more dear.

A flame that flickers must be brave
And burn despite the wind and wave
Of living death the dark employs
To snuff out light and douse our joys.

I feel that flame within me burn,
The warmth of hope at every turn,
The spirit shining as my guide
Upon whom angels have relied.

Her home is my home, there I'll stay,
My love and hope won't go away,
Her kin will be my people too,
Her God, to Him I will be true.

            Naomi

She gleans and is content to find
In fields where hope lays on the soil
Some scraps the reapers leave behind,
The welcomed food of her love's toil.

My dearest daughter works all day
In Bethlehem, God's house of bread,
Her love and hope won't go away,
She gathers grain with which I'm fed.

A light now flickers in my heart,
Her love for me which now burns bright
Where darkness kept my love apart,
She's lit my spirit's unlit light.

It's not just nourishment from grain,
Another food comes from her first,
A greater food in heart I gain
She gives to help my hunger, thirst.

                 Ruth

Her sage advice is soft and kind
Though cultivated in a mind
Believing that a steady toil
Will ease resistance like warm oil.

My mother says to not delay,
To glean the harvest right away,
When others quit, to work instead
And harvest where my heart is led.

In Boaz' field, I make my start,
With steady toil, I do my part,
Perhaps he'll notice day or night
I work and keep myself in sight.

Her words and love are more than plain,
They blossom buds like springtime rain,
And give to me, though not as versed,
More hope, a smile, and brightness first.

          A New Family

The gentle master sees the maid
At work for nothing that she's paid
Except to glean some remnants here
To feed herself and mother dear.

His heart is softened by her toil,
Massaged by love like fragrant oil,
He opens up his unreaped fields
And to her humble effort yields.

The two are harvested as one
And reap the blessing of a son
Together with a nurse who feeds
Her infant grandson's basic needs.

Year after year, the children reap
The grain of hope their parents keep,
And He who cultivates on earth
In David's line will bring new birth.

Rich Tassinari 8/16/2013


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Submitted: Friday, August 16, 2013

Last Updated: Friday, August 16, 2013

About the Poet
Husband, father, grandfather, and each title is my joy. As a youth, poetry was a means to express the inexpressable. I was attracted to (and still am) the beauty and brevity of verse. All flows out from God, and like a proper prayer, can flow back.


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