Where are you now, children of the sun?
The broken things you left behind,
yet hold one another up,
standing hard against the frost.
Once the sun beamed on our faces,
and we burst forth, full of life,
and in that day, we gave you birth
just to watch you fall, too soon, too soon.
Sadly resolute, we must live on,
vines whose fruit has long since fallen,
what remains for us to do,
but wait the tiller call us home?