I stand within the Flames; they cannot touch me.
Their long white tongues only tickle my bare arms;
Trickle like water along the skin of my calves.
They swim before my eyes, beckoning enticingly.
The Song of Gabriel is in my mind.
My peasants dress is smooth a cool.
These ropes that bind me turn to soft gray ashes
Sifting softly down my long white fingers.
The tall wooden stake is strong—I gently lay my hand upon it
And it gives with a deafening crack,
Throwing to the heavens a dazzling display of fire sparks.
As the Flames lovingly enfold me
Their brilliance is that of the Lord.
I pity the fools who put me here as a witch,
For I go as a Martyr to God.