בס״ד
Bo
at the 49th level of tumah, nothing rises
all that is left - coarseness and sweat
a scorched crust
you will carry this burden - this matzah
a dead weight on your shoulders
beaten down, deflated
you will wend your way in woeful weariness
from west to east - then east to west
yet miraculously, in only 49 days,
not this blistered bark, but -
leavened loaves will be lifted up
the dough, freshly kneaded
given time to rise
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