Sisera’s mother waited at the window,
a weary, anxious watch.
“What’s keeping his chariot?
What delays his chariot’s rumble?”
The wisest of her ladies-in-waiting answers
with calm, reassuring words,
“Don’t you think they’re busy at plunder,
dividing up the loot?
A girl, maybe two girls,
for each man,
And for Sisera a bright silk shirt,
a prize, fancy silk shirt!
And a colorful scarf—make it two scarves—
to grace the neck of the plunderer.”