The wasteland looks like eden
After a long and tortured road.
We were promised no such land
Nor any home that we are owed.
Still we took that beaten path
Knowing well where it may go.

By the gods what fools we be!
Seeing neither haunted forests
Or the weeping, dying trees.
We saw instead clear flowing streams
Ignored the way they slithered,
Withered valley and the rose.
Or how the heart can carve a lily
Into a candle in the snow.