I
The sky wore an apron of ashes,
hiding the sun’s shame.
The earth, brown and cursed,
groans in pain.
II
Even the wind held its breath
in mourning for what had happened.
Light lost its strength
like a memory too vile to hold.
III
In her hands, she held the bowl,
weighed with grief too raw to bear.
She dropped the bowl; the bitten apple fell—
a scar upon humanity.
IV
Sin bakes the scars,
seared in her seed—
only God
can break sin’s curse.