She sees herself take up her spear, Bow and arrow, armor, helm. Need and duty drive her on To do what must be done. Her weary sadness, doubt and weakness Shelter in an icy cave Of frozen tears no flame can touch Until the task is done. She sees herself take up her strength: It rises from the mountain’s roots, It rides on wings of winter storm – In cold and steel she comes. ©2002 by Ann Gróa Sheffield