So you have come?
Beneath orange Skies and orange Sun?
Though centuries rolled
Like a mad stream
Of disenchantment, discontent.
Terrible was the Father's voice
Questioning love, life, melancholy, patience,
Contorted the dreams gasping,
Half-dreamt, half-done.
They said it was a game,
They said it was a hunt,
They said it was madness,
They said you were numb.
So you have come?
With promises of new promise,
With dreams of old dreams,
With reasons to kill reasons,
With lessons to learn, unlearn.
So you have come,
To paint this Winter dying,
With gray wisdom, brown ferns,
Building our kingdom in that snow
Melting in obedience to reverened Sun.
