The morning sun didst rise upon the floor,
As Father took the vessel for the cream.
He stepped beyond the threshold of the door,
To seek the milk, or so it then didst seem.
The hours turned to days of silent dread,
The pantry stands as empty as my heart.
Is he at market buying loafs of bread,
Or didst he choose from us to stay apart?
I cry unto the heavens, cold and grey,
With spirit broke and longing in my knee:
My Father, who hath wandered far away,
O why, my Lord, hast Thou forsaken me?
The dairy soured long ago, 'tis true,
And still I keep the door unlatched for you.