Poetry

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A Cake Not Turned


Smoke fills the air while closed hearts crack and break

From embers of wickedness do they burn

Enticed by pride; unable to discern

The deep darkness of their fatal mistake...

Bakers were sleeping, not turning the cake.

Bakers of strife and scorn, hating the morn...

All unwilling to repent and return

To reconcile with our Lord of Mercies

Rejecting the one righteous path to learn .

O! How God wants them to call out and see

That His holy hands are holding the key.

Awake and rise up to sweet victory,

Tis' only Lord Jesus who sets us free.


Based on Hosea 7-8
They are all hot as an oven, and have devoured
their judges; all their kings are fallen:
there is none among them that calleth unto me.
Ephraim, he hath mixed himself among the people;
Ephraim is a cake not turned.



Julie Pisacane © 11/2007

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