Privily she lays awake, while they go about their deeds;
Privily she hears their tasks, their vileness and greeds.
She, in the darkness lay there, as horrors do go on,
Ever more her heart does hide the hope and light of dawn.
They know not that she hears them, they know not of her peep,
They believe her to be blind to them, and to their acts asleep.
Yet privily she lays awake as they snake about her lees,
The darkness doth not hide them; supernaturally she sees.
Her heart is filled with wisdom, her soul is filled with day,
In the secret, she has power: every one of them to slay.
Yet they think her stupid, silent, still and weak;
They despise her for her weakness; of her murder do they speak.
Her heart beats soft and steady, yet she knows of their intent,
Within her dwells the power their very souls to rent.
She’s waiting for the moment, she’s waiting for the time:
His voice to liberate her to strike, and pierce their crime.
For when her eyes are fully open – the brilliance of the stars;
These shoot forth shards of terror: to beat them down with bars.
Or, she’ll wait there till the Sun arrives, and spills their sins abroad.
So, let them think they have her, yes let them have their laud.
For pride is all they have to eat, this vicious, sorry lot;
Their arrogance: it feeds them. Their strength: from praise of others got.
Privily she sees them, and privily she hears,
Privily her peace within protects them from her spears.