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Fire.

12 February 2017

There’s blood upon your brow again, my dear.
Your shirt is ripped, your elbows scraped and torn.
And though your voice is hoarse, your words are clear,
It’s time to fight, and not yet time to mourn.

I’ve watched the fire crackle to its height,
From spark to flame to resolute, to forge
Our breath the bellows, steel from red to white,
In Justice’ hidden hand is gripped a sword.

How could I fail to love that fearless fire?
And you, who stand within it unconsumed.
We strive with forces grave and hateful, dire.
We fight with victory fraught and unpresumed.

Whatever end it comes to, side by side
I go with you: my heroine and guide.

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