She wears her scars like a blanket of comfort,
Not minding what people had to say about them,
Because she knew that these weren’t ordinary scars,
They were scars of transformation,
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.