Green grass and bluest sky,
birds soaring up so high.
Springtime has come on by,
broken by a rally cry.
Brave little soldier girl,
marching from home.
Marching to war she goes,
a war not her own.

Blood flows across the field,
as farmers tend their growing yield.
A greatsword is hers to wield,
striking wounds that never heal.
Brave little soldier girl,
marching for home.
Marching to war she goes,
at war for her home.

Red stains the balding trees,
and flows through all that she can see.
The dead leave just her to lead,
as autumn sheds its final leaves.
Brave little soldier girl,
marching for home.
Marching to war she goes,
in war not alone.

One final charge to stand,
as winter settles 'cross the land.
Men under her command,
gazes locked on her raised hand.
Brave little soldier girl,
won't make it home.
Marching to war she goes,
a war made her own.

Brave little soldier girl,
carry her home.
A lifetime for soldier girl,
so far from home.


Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 5th of Slyphian, in the year 511 MA.