By Felicia Rodriguez 

Oh how weary, how heavy
The toil this life does levy. 
Each breath a tax on my lungs. 
Each step in rhythm to the slaves’ songs.
“To thee do we cry, poor banished
children of Eve” truly anguished
Desperate for sweet relief. 
There must be more than this grief. 
Show us there is an end to this season
We wait, seeking to live in Your Wisdom.
Precious Father, heed our need. 
Teach us to follow where you  lead. 
Through the valley we will tread,
Trusting in the promises You have said. 

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