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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345061" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lot's Wife</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the just man trailed God's shining agent,<br>over a black mountain, in his giant track,<br>while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:<br>&quot;It's not too late, you can still look back</div><div style="margin:10px 0">at the red towers of your native Sodom,<br>the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,<br>at the empty windows set in the tall house<br>where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.&quot;<br>A single glance: a sudden dart of pain<br>stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .<br>Her body flaked into transparent salt,<br>and her swift legs rooted to the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem<br>too insignificant for our concern?<br>Yet in my heart I never will deny her,<br>who suffered death because she chose to turn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anna+Akhmatova">Anna Akhmatova</a><div class=q>
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over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
&quot;It's not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where onc..."></div>
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