Lot's Wife by Anna Akhmatova

And the just man trailed God's shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
"It's not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed."

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain
stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .
Her body flaked into transparent salt,
and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for our concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn.

by Anna Akhmatova

Other poems by 'Anna Akhmatova'

I Don't Know If You're Alive Or Dead

I Wrung My Hands

March Elegy

Memory Of Sun

Requiem

Solitude

The Sentence

Twenty-First. Night. Monday

Under Her Dark Veil

You Thought I Was That Type

Search Poems
e.g. love, marriage, kids

Popular poems this week

In Silence We Left

The Lost Dances of Cranes

The Author to her Book

Summer Evening

The Lesson

A chilly Peace infests the Grass

To Mæcenas

You Fit Into Me

mr youse needn't be so spry..

Oh, honey of an hour