Islands of ice glacial in their poise
Frozen by foreign eyes
This ocean lies dormant in arrest
Devoid of its breath and heaving breast
Silence is beauty we are told
As each form stands foreign and bold
Only bitter biting winds blow
Over flimsy fluttering flags they flow
Where are’thou O samoom?
Shall we meet later or soon?
Restless in this cocoon are we
The time has come for a churning sea
Our hearts weak and fragile
Neither dead nor agile
Forgotten not are our passions past
To Him we turn first and last
Isn’t the dew of dawn due?
The darkest hours are few
Soon the beating hooves shall sound
Unfettered upon a fertile ground