In times of turmoil's heavy breath, A whispered hope, her visage weaves, With eyes that pierce the shroud of death, And hands that hold, not swords, but leaves.

Amidst the chaos, fierce, untamed, Her gentle grasp on peace prevails, The olive branch, through ages famed, A symbol pure, when all else fails.

Let peace ascend, above, beyond, Where shadows fall and evils fade, Her tranquil gaze, both clear and fond, A promise made, of light unswayed.