Dark fabric covers her parchment skin,
ink under blots marked as darker blue,
once black, once purple, and now yellow,
mottled with the occasional glimpse of grey.

Inwardly she is all thunder cloud, holding her hail fire,
whilst waiting to sprinkle mists of healing rain.
But these ongoing blue grey bruises delineate 
ceded territories still unspoken of yet.

She waits her time now stilled, 
and places her healing in hope.
Perhaps by dawn her siege will be raised.