Pouring rain pummels on the roof
as an unknown god's anger should.
Her sweet lips do beauty unto herself,
yet the lips have yet to speak a word.
She might never grow up, who knows
and she'll always have to be cherished:
cherished like a grandmother's old ring
that's cracked and broken, but still pretty.
She still grew when the ground had first changed
until she halted, but the world continued.
The ground still grew, seasons changed,
and my poor Naomi was left behind.
For always, the mountain plunges into the valley,
the tree sighs and creaks as it plummets under;
the hum of the hummingbird's wings dwindles
as it falls under the weight of the sky's rain.
And so comes the last burning of the wood:
intelligence giving way under God's anger.
A twisted punishment for biting the apple:
Stay in Eden while the world knows all.
Our mother's tears have drenched the Earth
she's cried so much, to no avail.
God's fire advances on the girl...
please, God....let the fire die...
