Sheltered from the rain, under the broom tree,
sat the weeping and fleeing Elijah.
Scared that Jezebel would fulfil her vows,
as the rain and tears drew lines beneath his brows.
A nut fell on his head, as he cursed,
with noxious fibres seeking to burst.
With gushing springs of tears in anguish shed,
he wished he were dead.
Sheltered from the sun, under the broom tree,
sat the fleeing Jonah.
The early sunlight slept on massive flank,
down his haunches, he shuddered and sank.
Afraid of the hot east wind,
sent by God with an angry mind.
As the hot sun beat on his head,
he wished he were dead.
Sheltered from the Israelites, under the broom tree,
sat the whining prophet Moses.
When hunger struck with nothing to eat,
he cried and asked God for meat.
The lord listened to his tenor wail,
and sent a flock of Quail.
Before d Quail and manna fed,
he wished he were dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem