Sitting by the dry creek bed,
When the wind gathers the willow seeds,
And scatters the blessed fluff,
Am I made of stronger stuff?

I smell the iron some mornings,
As a drop rolls down my chin.
Is it smooth enough?
And am I made of stronger stuff?

The oak cracks and creaks,
And the shell shatters underfoot.
I wonder these long weeks,
Am I made of stronger stuff?

The mussel makes the pearl
And would it shine the same,
Buried in another lake or stream?
I sleep assured of dreams.

“And thus the legend runs- I Justice am,
And I will bring the hero home again, 
To hold once more her place in this town”