Proem
And "˜neath the morning stars converge
The tired light of torches march
Waiting for the ships to roll back in
Through the weary,
waiting veil of hope
With steel resolve
they slowly creep ashore
and into beds that once were cold
They rout the chill with burrowed claws
to rend their yearning
And once the sun clears the frozen fog
Soft they slumber (so softly they slumber)
Backs turned to the dawn