In a cloak of vine,
Leaving new life behind.
Her steed of leaves,
Huffs and heaves.
Her blade of a leaf,
Sharp beyond belief.
Her bow a bright green,
Its power quite keen.
A shield of young oak,
Will not become broke.
A staff of flora,
With a living aura.
Her presence unfurls,
In petal-like curls.
Her hair green and brown,
With flowers all 'round.
Her path she can't see,
But she leaves jubilee.
She is the life,
To drive away strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem