after she read of Hezekiah’s repentance and failed to learn anything
by Pam Eason
I was a weaver At work with my loom, Absorbed with my threads, Designing my doom. I took my design From loom frame to roll And turned without thought, Renouncing my soul. My work, I supposed, Would be underground, Secured in a box, No living soul round. But horror I see, The life I accrued Is ever unrolled, Eternally viewed.
