Light a lamp to find me,

housekeeper, wife of hope.

Sweep the corners,

peer under beds;

for I have been mislaid,

I’ve rolled away,

and I am worth a fortune.

Brave the wolf to find me,

head counter, minder of lambs.

Beat the bushes,

shout down canyons;

for I am easy prey

out here alone,

and I am worth a flock.

Watch at your window,

maker of our homeward way.

Kiss my photo,

cross off the days;

for I remember you,

sick in my sty,

and I am worth the wait.

Image: Retour de l’Enfant Prodigue, by Michel Ciry