Under black of night, she pulls away, leaving all behind.
 
Her silhouette, no familiar contour or defined form.
 
Her whispers, softly lapping at the darkness.
 
No one to wave goodbye to her, sending her on her journey.
 
No lover to kiss her tenderly, no family to miss her.
 
She is one of…them….one of forty one….
 
Each given a life only to give it for countless others…
 
Many will call her their mistress…seeking shelter inside her…
 
Though her namesake may be male, she is a lady all the same…
 
Her power...their power…wielded by the many inside her.
 
Pacing…ever vigilant…ever quietly surveying for those that would do harm…
 
This lady of silence…hoping never to speak….
 
Should it come, her words…her song…death and destruction.
 
As all her children are we, here in our homes, in our beds.
 
Never remembering that she is there….that they are there….
 
Those forty one brave ladies….those forty one…..for freedom.