We join the march and draw the ancient strand,
A spider-web’s whisper, thinner than wire,
Tracing words like shadows on the sand,
We call the stars to drink their sacred fire,
While pages turn to rivers in our hands,
The dust we eat and breathe, but never sleep,
And papers stained with scarlet ink we bleed-
Bleed willfully! -we carve from flame and frost
With equal grace, the work is never lost:
Alone we come, alone again we go
From dusk to dusk, on plains of thorn and snow,
And write the signs for those who walk behind,
Like pilgrims all in one unbroken line.