The southern wind howls through the streets
And gives the solemn banners flight
To ripple o'er the marching men
That carry forth the city's might.

And still she stands - unseen, unheard
Her face is cloaked by veils of grief
And though her heart soars with their song
Their bloodlust brings a joy too brief.

You, silent lady, you who weave
Your webs of cloth or intrigue deep
Stand by the window - glance upon
The soul of Stavenn which you keep.

Thus blazes shield, thus spear glows with doom
Of armies foreign that will fall this night
Toss your black rose before your soldier's feet
And forge his distant foe's eternal plight.

A child's shrill cry won't touch your frigid heart
You know not cares of home and hearth
Your daughters learn the dark loom of deceit
Your sons wield swords within a year of birth.

Gaze to the streets, dark lady of Stavenn
And look as husband, son and brother disappear
Beyond the gates that bathe your soul in blood
Into the night that holds in it your fear.

Stand by the window, woman of Stavenn
And steel your heart to years of quiet sorrow
In Empire's triumph lies your only hope
When winds bring news of life or death tomorrow...

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Artificium, in the year 456 AD.