Shabbat Shalom everyone.
These lines came to me while pondering Tisha B’av:
The holy city is down-trodden
Under heathen’s boots
On David’s neck now planted.
The sound – falling on Judah’s hills;
Of Rachel weeping for her children,
Where once rose the song of turtledoves.
The House for all nations’ prayer
Is made a desolate heap.
Ichabod there makes his home.
He takes for consorters
Where once was prophecy.
I would love to hear some honest thoughts / criticism about it, if you’re inclined to respond. Thank you so much for your time!