In twilight’s veil, where shadows play, Isaac was aged and near his end. He did say, “Esau, my son, go hunt with pride. Bring me game, so I decide.”

But Rebekah, with whispers and scheme, Heard the words and wove a dream. “Jacob, my child, the blessing is thine, Wear Esau’s guise, and take what’s divine.”

With skins of goats, and food prepared, Before his father, Jacob dared. Isaac’s hands, though old and frail, Felt the disguise and deemed it hale.

“The voice is strange, yet hands don’t lie,” He blessed the son with a tearful eye. “Nations will serve, grain be yours, the heavens and earth shall open their doors.”

But lo, Esau, with hunted prize, Returned to hear his father’s cries. The blessing lost, his heart did grieve, Anger burned, and vows he’d weave.

“Jacob will pay,” Esau swore, As Rebekah planned Jacob’s door. “To Laban, flee, until hate subsides, Far from Esau’s watchful strides.”

Thus, the tale of blessing and strife, Deception carved a path through life. Yet through it all, a purpose shone, God’s promise fulfilled, though hearts bemoan.