With head bent, her stoic shoulders push into winds of chance and time,
fending against all comers.
Hope, even stolen from its place, dares not shake this one.
For though she bruised and battered be,
broken never shall she be.
Beat her head against rock, tree, pain or fall;
it serves only to fan the flame of inner resolve.
When all others have left chained, flayed or shamed,
yet she shall stand, and in brazen truth