The smoke of the altar rose straight to the blue,
For the shepherd’s young lamb was a sacrifice true.
The Lord looked with favor on Abel’s sweet grace,
And shone the full light of His love on his face.

But Cain brought the fruit of his sweat and his plow,
With the soil on his hands and the heat on his brow.
Yet the smoke of the harvest rolled heavy and low,
Rejecting the labor that Cain had to show.

A dark shadow fell on the firstborn son’s mind,
A venomous whisper, a grief unconfined.
“Why shines He on Abel, who watches the sheep,
While I till the earth where the thistles grow deep?”

The Almighty warned him: “Sin crouches and waits,
A beast at the threshold, a thief at the gates.
But you must master the rage in your chest.”
Yet jealousy burned like a fire unsuppressed.

“Come out to the field,” Cain spoke to his brother,
Away from the tents and the eyes of their mother.
The valley was silent, the grass green and wide,
As they walked through the furrows together, side-by-side.

With a stone or a blade, or the grip of his hand,
The first blood of man spilled out on the land.
The shepherd fell silent, his breath caught away,
As the shadow of death touched the earth on that day.

“Where is your brother?” the thundering sound
Shattered the quiet and shook the red ground.
“Am I his keeper?” Cain answered in dread,
While the blood of young Abel cried out from its bed.