Through the darkness Joan of Arc,
was riding ahead of the flames.
No moon on her armor,
No man, in that smoky night, beside her.
“Of the war I am tired now,
to my old days’ work I would go back,
to a wedding dress or something white,
to hide this vocation of mine to triumph and cry”.
“Yours are words I am glad to hear.
I have spied you riding every day
And hearing you saying that, now I know what I want:
Winning such a cold heroine, embracing her pride”.
“And who are you?” Said she, enjoying the game,
“Who are you to speak to me so regardless?”
“Actually, you are speaking with the Fire
and I love your solitude, I love the look in your eyes”.
“Well, if you are the fire, just cool down a little:
your hands will now have something to hold”
and, in silence, she climbed into Him
to offer Him her best way of being a bride.
And deep inside His burning heart
He started coiling Joan of Arc
and there, above and in front of people
He hung the useless ashes of her white dress.
And it was from deep inside His burning heart
that He took Joan and hit the target.
And she clearly understood
that if He was the fire, she must have been the wood.