Nor their prayers quench the fire in her veins
This tempestuous primal bloom with skin that smelled of lavender and tasted like the sea
Had a thorny sting as sharp as the arrogant wasp
"The loss! The loss!" they warned as they tugged and pulled on the hem of her skirt
But she kept walking, staying one step ahead of the fullness of their grasp and her own wind blown shadow
They responded, "Go then! You are in God's hands now!"
Their words stopped her and she turned to face them, "Indeed I am. I go gladly ... Perhaps you'd care to join me?"