SMALL GIFTS
It's another Friday,
breathing the air,
Light and shadow are
playing "tag" again.
The table is set, childhood
photos on the wall,
White processions are
returning from synagogue,
And that smell which
scratches my heart
Sneaking in and opening doors
To a small joy, to the same
old song which is being passed
along for generations.
Chorus
Small gifts
Someone has sent me small gifts
Fragments of intent, circles of faith
Small gifts
Such as the power to accept what
doesn't exist and what does exist
What else could you possibly
ask for?
End Chorus
It's another Friday, balcony
and newspaper,
The sun, like worries, is slowly
being erased, simple melodies
crawl out the window
and there is no longer any storm
which can hide the silence here.
Chorus
For thou hast chosen us
and sanctified us...
Blessed art thou, G-d,
sanctifier of the Sabbath.
And that smell which
scratches my heart
Sneaking in and opening doors
To a small joy, to the same
old song which is being passed
along for generations.
Chorus
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