Joy, you speak of joy —
on this barren earth
stripped of flowers
and left to die
with sleet and storm
on winter-frozen days
that creep unfeeling
over life.
How can you speak of joy?

The joy cited in the oracles
proclaimed in sacred scrolls,
age-worn and blood-bought,
proclaiming that here and now,
in this battle-scarred earth
reeling with centuries of death,
we can yet be brought
to resurrection life!

But what kind of joy
could dispel this awful dark
that mutilates the soul,
what kind defy the glacial ice
that numbs the senses
and leaves the spirit raw?