I am the iron helmet that guards your majesty
through bloodstained battles for king and country
who cradles your mind when your comrades fall
and builds your thoughts a sheltering wall
But I envy the gold crown that adorns your grace
and honors your genius in her tender embrace
who encircles your brow at yuletide fetes
and grants you glory through ivory gates
In me you see a woman of purpose,
steel and steed at the treacherous front,
impenetrable shield upon your right arm
born not for the feast, only the hunt
When the snow obscures the steppes
and the bow of Artemis weighs my weary arms,
I long to be crafted from filigree,
the delicate daisy on a spring morn
you admire in moments of blissful peace
when the air is fragrant and the fire warm
But I am a daughter of death, born of ruin and rage
So till we both fall alone, this war I will wage
