She wanted to command her own
desire,
Live sinfully yet not have
really sinned,
To ride a private chariot of
fire,
To pull the sun against the
chaperone wind.
She took the flaming reins in
her cold hands
And chirped to the bright
horses she must drive;
And, heeding not a one of her
commands,
They bolted; it’s a marvel
she’s alive.
then gladly she took what the
ground could give her,
Begged lenience, and leaning
psot, and sank
Against the willow tree above
the river,
And thanked God that she’d
landed on the bank.
Long will she pay for damage
from the fire;
Nor soon have time to trifle
with desire.
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