|
The store is empty
Even bread and water are
none,
The owner too, long gone,
Except for the undiapered,
Crawling around,
Crying for milk,
Where none will be found.
The mother is in the street
Selling her charms,
Once so sweet,
Now hiding scabs,
Insults upon injury
No one should have,
So much for discreet.
The infant being hungry
Will sadly starve and die
Inside the store's door,
And its mother, so desolate,
With nothing left to offer,
Will sit upon the ground.
The cost of doings against
the Lord.
Isaiah 3 and 4 |
