The heart remembers her, that wholly humanAnd fleeing woman .ÀæOne look, one final look, before it was too lateAt the small house beside the city gateWhere she had loved, borne children, broken bread,Until God's angels, angry, visitedAll heaven's wrath upon its guiltless door.One anguished look beforeStreet, temple, vine-yard, her whole past, were ash.If she was rashWere tears not salt enough?Forgive her, then, that blindAnd backward glance. Who has not looked behind?
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Lot's Wife
written byGilbert Ruth
© Gilbert Ruth
