The sons of Jacob crossed the sand, with staff in hand, to Pharaoh’s land. Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, names like roots in sacred soil.
Seventy souls, a family flame, Joseph already carved his name In Egypt’s halls, where famine fled, now time has turned, and Joseph’s dead.
But life will not be buried deep, the children grow, the mothers weep with joy, as tents stretch wide and far, their laughter rising like a star.
A new king rises, cold and blind, No memory of Joseph’s kind. He sees the people, strong and vast, and fears the future, shadows cast. “They are too many,” Pharaoh cries, “Too strong, too bold beneath our skies. If war should come, they’ll break away, we must outsmart them while we may.”
So fear begins its cruel design, yet even then, God’s hand aligns. For every plot that seeks to bind, The promise lives in hearts refined.

Inspired by Exodus 1:1–10