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.