"I'm tired," he said
But he pastured the flock
Knowing their destiny
Watching the rejection coming
He broke the staff called Favor
Now small twigs lie on the ground
A good size for firewood I think
This fire consumes the covenant
Yet there is fear for the coming storm
"Throw it to the potter," he said
these cheap coins
All the broken pieces
To be formed anew in the heat of judgement
There is fire in the trees
He broke the staff called Union
Separating praise and power
To the four corners of the earth
Strengthen our hands now
thoughts on Zechariah 11
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