Along the dusty roads, we make our trail -
ships cutting through water, wind cut by sail.
Trees rise like masts as we tread earthy sea
and misty cities and creatures we flee.
Though now in memory's rose-colour tale,
the fears that through the dead war still prevail.
People still moving, continuing, free -
regardless of where turmoil used to be.
We walk through like the Light in the Dread Dark,
dappled by the leaves like stars overhead.
We gladly walk where evil leaves its mark
and where other saints sadly fear to tread.
Good only spreads so that people can hark
and allow Light to cover them instead.