For Joy

Near a stream by the knoll, she was searching for her soul,
where the child would be found in her tears.
Mixed with salt, mixed with wine, her reflection was divine,
but I’m afraid that’s the last time I saw her.

When a child loses hope, they grow older and they float,
upon the currents of degraded laughter.
When a daughter is lost, in the woods by the cost,
of a disengaged merciless father.

Her veiled face is an anonymous race,
The color of her skin achromatic...
She’s gone, gone, without the slightest trace,
The tale of her woes dramatic.

She’s out, out, to find what was herself,
but I think it’s been consumed by nature.
The trout, trout, sing aloud by night,
she’s been given a new form by the Creator...
She’s been given a new form by the Creator...