The Maiden of Ire

Many had wished that she become one with the world
Hoping that she change her ways according to some
Yet she could not be bent, she could not be swayed
Reaping only but scorn, and none would ever dare
Even a mate so wise-- she could never be preyed

Gentle as a breeze is her tempered grace, yet
Even at times she is a force to be reckoned with
Often unconsoled, and often unabashed is her poise
Leaving no trace of spite, only a thundering noise
Lady, she appears as such, but never a ruffled Mhyre
Even in a barrage of pitiful and lesser scathe, still
Generous in words and praise, she remains with
Undeniable strength, intentional forbearance, and
Equanimity—her arms, because she is the Maiden of Ire