Her figure flickered like a fiery flame
by Michael Walker
Before the torches, when she had been caught
And brought before the Man Who raised the lame,
Who saw her overwrought and most distraught.
He wrote the sins of men within the sand,
Beckoning them not to cast a stone.
Over her head of hair, He held His Hand,
And told her, 'Sin no more, ' so to atone.
O Woman, so consumed with the Passion!
Anoint Him with the ointment of your tears!
Forget all fallow, false, and shallow fashion!
Follow Him, Who heals all your fears!
She was the first to see the open door,
For she had been the last one to adore.