Treasure Island

Patrick Fealy

(1/1/1973 / Oakland)

Lot's Wife


There is no way a man can fault
that woman who had turned to salt
for she alone was in lot’s heart
Love’s hapless victim to love’s art
longing there for just to find
a city filled with milk and wine
No desert dwelling could she cherish
and so on looking back she perished
Lot himself would turn to stone
within his heart out there alone
with just a mule two daughters fair
within the wine did he despair
within his cave in drunken dreams
He thought his true love he had seen
behind the falling silken hair
beneath his blankets folding there
While on the plains of Sodom’s fall
remained his darling standing tall

Submitted: Thursday, April 25, 2013
Edited: Friday, April 26, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Just a sympathetic reflection upon an ancient story

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