She’s one tough girl to sonnetise; she demanded short, plain lines.
Anyway, four companions down, three to go. I suspect Fenris and Anders are going to be tough - not least because I’ve already written poetry for them.
The weight of Wesley’s shield is more than steel;
It’s memories, and love, and grief, a vow
She could not keep, a wound that’s slow to heal
And rarely bleeds. She’s used to it. But now
A change has come; she listens for a voice
With nothing special, musical or dear
About it. Nothing yet. She knows the choice
Is hers, as are the memories, the fear
Of failure and of loss. She sits and holds
The shield. From outside Donnic’s laughter drifts.
She smiles and thinks of copper marigolds
All warm and burnished in the sun. She sifts
Her hopes and fears, and, ready to decide,
Her hands are sure. She lays the shield aside.