Of heroines, her noble beauty took
Never the herald to degrade or mock
Her alluring eyes have a dashing look –
a near scour between the tar colored locks.
Her hour glass of burning sands, a gift
Modestly robed in body length flannel
While the eager winds are fated to drift
Around her arrogant bound they channel.
The sun tears open a rift in the clouds
and brightens the edge of her annealed blade
which gains her passage through curious crowds
that witnessed the justice her honor made.
We wait, gratified to see she arrived
To explain for us just how she survived: