Its dead of night at Worley Trace
the mist lays thick about the place
in shrouds of grey, cold and pale
she waits the dawn, in heavy veil
asleep, she dreams of fluid flight
she lives by day, abandoned night
the blood is drained, sometimes lost
she waits the dawn, endures the frost
Alone at night, I sense her weep
and come to see her, in her sleep
I talk of dreams, my hopes and fears
her silence speaks, I fight my tears
beyond what shape and form suggest
like mom, we suckle at her breast
she wraps us in her mighty wing
we give her life and help her sing
I wonder, will her days be long
will she endure, continue strong
become one of the lucky few
that ends the war, with all her crew
and what of her, when all is done
she'll stand abandoned in the sun
as merchant vulchers peck her skin
with axe and torch, and wear her thin
and if she does, then is that bad
will we remember all we had
tis better that, than broken lay
on foreign land, so far away.
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