Cottage of Sodom and Gomorrah

He apparently cried the entire winter All alone from the inside By the side of our lake We didn’t know He wept from his broken pipes Beds couches book cases wall paintings Picture windows filled with sunrises Sodom and Gomorrah drown In fountains of cold Skirted with ceiling-high black mold True I had glanced back late last fall With thirty years of memories and love My disobedience to God answered I suppose We always thought there’d be one more summer.