Lot’s wife was turned
A pillar of salt,
For she looked back-
Poor dear! Her fault
That she desired
Her certain door,
And shadows on
A cool stone floor?-
The sleepy kitten
She did not bring,
The silver well,
The mirrored wing?
Ah, well I know
How I have turned
Like one who watched
A town that burned.
And he who lives
In what has flown
Is less than salt,
Is less than stone.
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