The Reward
I buried my talent,
I burned my lamp, waiting.
I fed myself
and drank;
I kept my clothing,
didn’t visit.
Alone, in prison You waited.
I sowed and reaped
what was mine,
believed I was with sheep.
You told me thrice,
“Behold, I come quickly!”
with vengeance and grace.
You did.
And I did not prepare,
for my work was only for me.
– David Noorzdy
