Under A Cover Of Green Boughs

Under A Cover Of Green Boughs

Under a cover of green boughs

We dwell inside a little shack

To make an everlasting house

Our Tabernacle for the lack

Of that which, fallen long ago,

As in a vineyard it was left—

A booth for vines to overgrow—

A succoh in the field bereft.

Forget about it! they would say,

The overwhelming multitude

Who wish it was we’d go away—

Their succoh in the solitude;

For we should be made history—

(As all our history’s unmade)

Enshrouded by time’s mystery—

A glow emerges out of shade;

This fresh reminder that exile,

Under a succoh has to stand

For times of trouble are awhile

But a redemption is at hand;

Yet, that beyond us in the oft-

Repeated longing for an end

Of wandering, the greens aloft

Are a reminder, we depend

On Heaven for our sustenance,

As on the manna we were fed—

That, even now, as it was then,

In feeding on celestial bread,

It must’ve been His will to show

Us constantly by what has been,

The road we’ve traveled on is so

Much better than a wayside inn.