and those flames devour all!      we fear not the flood, we fear not the drought   we fear not the peak, nor the valley ensuing      we do not fear the song   we only fear its end   we only fear its consummation      when we were young   our mothers looked with our eyes   out and over everything   oh, those wide fields of tall wheat   and, oh, those busy streets      wet with the night,   and bright! with traffic lights   how they mean to inspire   how they mean to tell of a firm stand against time,   to tell the children that their lights can never fade,   and the words we heard our father's speak   were a thread so sweet   it is covered in ants, still strung over our heads, across this land      but now, such strange fates!   our dearest sweetest hope has died,   how lovingly she held us as we slept   how motherly she cupped those tired hands over our waking eyes,   how she has grown so still, pouring softly the tears that we cry.      soon, friends, you most bury her in your chests as i have in mine   and rise, rise, rise, rise   for though the moments press now on our heels and households like the waves,   with a fearful vigil, we have turned to face the coming tides   only to find that such oceans have dried      oh fates, you were so unwise!   if our mothers have taught us anything, it is that there is no shame in a fading light   but instead, a pale worldly beauty   so be tired, good children   be tired, but be strong, in a word: persevere   for the dimmer the light, the longer it shines when we are gone.