You are a healer, but you are not
the gentle, doe-eyed, dainty lady
that some folk make you out to be.
Your arms and shoulders bulge with muscle,
gained from lifting your hammer in the forge;
you are practiced with swords.
No weak and whining maid,
no cringing, fainting girl.
Woe to the foe that underestimates you;
send him screaming to his doom!
The hands that heal, that build, and
that pen songs of praise
may also wield the blade that takes
a head from its shoulders.
Hail to the warrior healer,
and warrior poet:
May your sword shine ever bright!