A war maiden prepares for battle

The warpaint hides her soft’ning jaw,
The spider lines beside her eyes.
No painter born could ever draw
A mask of such complete disguise.
Preparing for this savage war
Each careful stroke is thus applied
To screen what nature cannot hide.

Her armour laid out in a row
Reflects the callous lamplight’s glare.
With steady hands and face aglow,
She dons each piece with utmost care.
The moon lolls by with gait so slow
‘Tis unsure if he moves at all,
Yet she ignores his mocking call.

A strange bird screeches in the night,
The trees sashay with ancient ghosts.
Beneath the wan, translucent light
Eternal spirits leave their posts.
She straightens up, the ancient rite
Concluded like some sacred dance,
With very little left to chance.

She draws a breath. Her bosom heaves
Beneath a lace of stately blue.
Her earrings, like two semibreves
Resound with a foreboding hue.
She knows the fashion that deceives,
Yet still she asks me with a hiss,
“Do you think my bum looks big in this?”