Like Don Quixote, at windmills tilting,
The battle joins when she picks what is right;
With worthy cause, but with laughter lilting,
She draws out her sword and she joins the fight.
She asks no quarter, she gives no quarter:
A warrior's way is the path she will tread.
Their goal must change: there's no room to barter;
Change their goal and live, or they die instead.
She attacks what's wrong with a fervent zeal,
With no thought of effort nor thought of cost,
And with justice she always stamps her seal,
For the battle's won 'fore the cause is lost.
The world takes another small step ahead
For this warrior born is a warrior bred.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem