Diana, did you walk with her, down that lonely road?
Through the woods that lonely road did go.
Did the wild things, your eyes and ears, see my daughter walk alone?
My daughter is 17. A child of those woods. A child of nature.
A child devoted to you, Diana, to the wilds and the winds.
My daughter is a maiden and unbetrothed, yours to protect.
It is dark and late and she is not yet home.
Your face, the moon, does not show in the sky.
Someone heard a cry. Someone said a truck sped away.
Diana, are you hunting for her? Are the wild things eyes upon them?
Protector of maidens, will my daughter come back to me?
Will that wicked boy be turned to a stag to be ripped apart by wolves?
Diana, do you really watch over girls?