We’ve been walking forever,
                                              just wandering.

Nothing in sight but
           heat waves from scorching desert sun.

My feet are blistered.
          Sand in my sandals and everywhere,
                     wind-driven clouds of it blind us.

I’m hot. The children are tired and cry, 
             want to know why we can’t go back.

There’s little to eat, only dry, flat crackers.
              The cattle are sick now, left behind to die.

With no water to wet parched throats or bathe,
             he says he’ll break a rock open with his staff and
                      there’ll be water. Who could believe that?

Each day he seems more deluded, with crazy talk
           of burning bushes, parting seas, milk and honey.

                          If only he’d ask for directions to this Canaan.