I am the pillar of salt,
The remains of one who turned too soon to mourn.
I was not proud of my emigration.
Forced to exile by my husband,
I had no pride there.
But I was not entranced by the lights of the city behind me,
But by the people
Who did not come with me—the people
Whose guilt I bear.
At least I have the hope that in my death
I will season the air before the destruction.