She had been silent for a long time
Her voice lay piled under grime
Dormant it was, not quite dead
She became a warrior when it bled

She wore her scars like a shield
Out of the pit, onto the field
She sharpened her sword of a pen
Words became her deadliest weapon

She wrote though not to kill
Men got wounded reading her, still
Until she met in him a worthy equal
With him, she now rewrites her sequel