I met a traveller, from the only land she had ever known,
she was a spring of joy to me with many far away steps along her path.
With such old eyes, that set like stone, so afraid of her own wrath.

Such a beautiful daisy in a field of burnt grass,
yet her stone eyes were fixed on the dead,
devoid of her own beauty, without glass.
Oh darling, there is light ahead.

I was the charred grass around her,
yet our meeting was so delayed.
till the thunder rolled and rain slashed did she stir,
and the traveller need not be afraid.

The forgotten grass soon turned to clean dirt,
oh my sister, I wont let you hurt.