A Lamentation


How lonely sits the city,

She has none to comfort her.

All her gates are desolate.

She turns her face away —

Is it nothing to you,

All you who pass by?

For these things I weep;

My heart is wrung within me.


(Words from the Book of Lamentations, chapter 1)

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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