Abishag

Jacob Glatstein

1926

Abishag. Little, young, warm Abishag.
Shout into the street: King David is not yet dead.
But King David wants to sleep and they won’t let him.
Adoniyahu with his gang shout my crown off my gray head.
The fat Bathsheba blesses me with eternal life and watches my last words with a sly smile.
Sleep, my king. The night is still. We are all your…
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