Trooper of an Isle
Every day is a war
She gets up from the bed of hay,
Wear her hair like a crown of pine.
Dressed for the march ahead inline
She steps as in battlefield of warriors
She hunts the beast in a single gaze
Parton of the fort beyond her passion
Never oblivious of the realm
In the hurricane of dark breeze,
swear to defy till the last leave.
She sleeps with open eyes.
Maybe because she had to heal,
From the prick of wolf
With the amour of courage.
She rips its liver apart
Pulls the dragger to cure.
Rebirths with a curse of ancient time,
To witness the beast with the tear of feeble
Surge to grab the cosmos in her palm.
She conquers regardless of all mounds.
She rises above her delicacy.
With bold bronze of equity
To feed the justice and exile
All the mortals of her isle
Sent to be an apostle for vile
In the battle for tranquility
She is the trooper of an isle.
