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Lament for Poor Zebedee


It was a morning like any other.
I was in my boat with my sons,
Mending nets torn by barnacles,
Strained by catches so great
We laughed hauling them in.
We were nearly ready to set out
When he appeared on shore.
My sons heard what he shouted.
I didn’t. They climbed out
Of the boat and followed him.
I thought when I came in
That evening they’d be there.
They weren’t. Alone now,
An old man, I try to catch
Their faces, but all my nets are torn.
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