The Moabite
who was not born
of us.
Walk swiftly, Ruth
and don’t look back
for nothing good can come
of this insanity.
Love of green eyes and gentle smile
has drawn you to this rocky land
from whence springs hate
whose depths
are far beyond
your scope to fathom.
Ruth, Ruth my love
heed me and turn back now
to rainy lanes
and teddy bears
and passions
cooled
by mists
of far more temperate climes.
(October 2000)