On The Edge


Wolfs prowl on the Mount of Refugee
Where weak knees shake for freedom,
But the dark land is no tree-hugger,
For this place is barren,
And a lonely woman walks by
Although she can see the fatality
When a wretch of sins
Have been built out front,
Yet she doesn’t stop,
Saying,
How did this happen?
She goes on
As her feet follow wolf prints,
And her eyes tear up by the bareness
Because she cries for lost souls
On the edge of evil and lust,
Leading to a place like this
Where the footprints can take
A lonely woman in circles.

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