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 answerswith 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.”