Through many hard months
she fights.
Brown hair whips
as if carried on a demon breeze.
Blue glint of
her steel,
the last many see.
Thieves!
All of them thieves!
Spare not a soul
for victory.
Songs are spun
of mighty deeds.
Is it true?
they ask.
Will we soon be free?
Quiet, rejoice
but don’t let him hear.
Our lady comes
for her crown.
To avenge family’s slaughter,
Zaire will send him
into the underworld’s care.
As night falls,
into a fire she stares.
In her mind replays
all that she was told.
In the cradle
of her mother’s lap,
hear stories of
their people run into the hills.
While family land is plundered,
castle falls apart.
And guards of terror
scour the land.
Dia Tucker Writes 