In the death of the night, in the day’s wee small
I feel her presence, hear her call:
“You laid waste to my love, rampaged my trust
Turned them to ashes and to dust.
"Deny not this rebuke, tell me not your lies
That’s what you’ve done all your life.”
Then her voice drifts away, but the words dwell on
I feel the charge of what I’ve done:
I cannot recompense, I don’t have what’s gone
I can stop taking … from woman
Hope
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