She turned her back on heritage,

Two-thousand years and more,

Embraced another’s culture ~

On hers she slammed the door;

There can’t be any going back,

For dark skins can’t be White,

She never knew the difference,

That parts the day from night.

She turned away from folk and blood,

Two-thousand years and more,

Of lovers in the arms of own ~

Like her had loved before;

Yet now she clasps another’s kind,

Her past is lost in theirs,

2,000 years of thread were cut,

She cursed her folk and heirs.

She turned her face on folk and blood,

Her future’s now unknown,

She steps into the darkness ~

Away from all she’d known;

She is no loss, she leaves us pure,

Her price the exile’s pay,

Her weakness is no longer ours,

It’s best she goes her way.

Michael Walsh Poetry

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