The storm-winds screamed across the sky,
Her wings of silver spread,
A spear of dawn within her grasp,
A crown of braided thread.
She rode where fate and thunder met,
Above the clash below,
To choose the brave whose time had come
And guide their spirits home.
Her eyes beheld the shifting strands
Of lives not fully spun,
Yet in their hearts she saw the flame—
The fearless, never done.
She touched the swords of fallen ones,
A whisper soft as air,
And promised halls of endless song
Beyond all mortal care.
No fear can claim her honored chosen,
No darkness holds them long;
For she, the rider of the wind,
Makes glory out of wrong.
So sing of her who sweeps the field
When roaring battles roar—
The Valkyrie, who lifts the brave
And guards them evermore.