The splinters left were only bid the sharpest;
her hand felt mercy, only by the surface.
And little lasted from the last years harvest
the village said she did it all on purpose.
Her mind could not allow a thoughtless straight
a way to coax what all the wigs believed.
Somehow she dealt right in the lack of faith
yet cared for hand's that harvest all the seeds.
To think that they could see her sprawling sores;
no way to leave her place and be set free
of sanction's sin she hopes for something more.
His white horse neighed above the starry night;
they soared the cliffs so high amidst clear sky.
