What Sort? Poem by Jonathan H. Scott

A gift was she, a blessing and
To someone else was given
As retribution for the fire;
The stolen flame from heaven.

The mightiest, who sat on high,
And with his anger kindled,
Presented to the woman fair
The jar, for he was swindled.

What sort of female kind was she
That thus she should be gifted?
With all things evil trapped inside,
The top she quickly lifted.

Oh! on and by the cardinal winds,
Death, too, and sin were scattered.
And ever since that fateful day
Lives have been torn and tattered.

And, yet, the empty jar was not.
(In answer to her prayer?)
Lo! hope was hidden deep inside
And to this day remains there.