Aye me

That scorching sight, leaving all with heads bowed before her

The beatings upon bare backs, and the lashings on exposed skin

Oh, but for a moment’s relief! How we long to see her when all

Is dark and chill. Yet do we often forget the casual cruelty with which

She treats us all.

Aye, me, for a drink of ice, for a place where the memory of shadows remain.

Nay, tis not so. For that she would punish me further, demanding much

Before the beauty she creates.