Better than death, Joan

What is better than death?
Life?
Sin?
Corruption?
I give a wide berth to life
Running my toes through the ashes
And singing softly to myself
As the shadows drift past me
Accepting me
As I have accepted them

My fate
To suffer burning
A witch
My lovely voices scorned
The bells will not ring for me
It is not bread and water I fear
But you keep me from the sun
And the flowers
And in this way
I know that your council is of the Devil
And mine of God

Do not shun me
I am an innocent child
Running
Skyclad
Through the fields
Whispering barley around me
Scattering the seeds of my youth

Don't bother to listen
I know you'll never understand
But when I am gone
Think of me
Joan of Arc,
Messenger of God,
And think a while
Of what you have done
And how you have denied yourself a place
In paradise