Why was I thrown into this well?
Why tossed with gruesome glee
Into this depth of darksome sorrow –
This pit.  Oh, Lord, why me?

My father loves me; this I know.
My mother loved me, too.
And Benjamin, my younger brother –
His love for me is true.

I did not ask for Father's gift,
Nor plead on bended knee
To have the coat of many colors
That late was rip't from me.

I did not ask You, Lord, to send
The dreams that filled my youth:
The sheaves, the sun, moon, stars, all bowing
To me.  Lord, were they truth?

My elder brothers thought they were,
And hate has fed on fear.
Now they have acted harshly, rashly.
That's why I languish here.

Yet I believe the dreams You sent –
The future they foretell.
So I await Your higher purpose
Down here in this dark well.

Beth Robinson
March 24, 1996

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