Passover

Close the door,
hope the rush-light
banishes shadow.
We would be safe -
could we use tallow.
Will he pass
our dark threshold?
Or come knocking,
sickle in hand, though
not from cornfields?
Hold the mite,
feel the shiver
coming from below.
Croon and sough
a lullaby
for rose-ringed babes;
by innocence
and posies,
we were saved.