Who would dare to chase away the night sky

When there are so many stories, old as time,

that call to us in these traces of mystic light?

Who could they be?

How do they live?

What makes their hearts soar

…Or their hearts sore?

Will we ever know their faces?

Their voices?

Will we ever know their love or rage,

Or if they yield to their grief or age?

Yet, as we weave our dreams

Of who peers back at us

From the opposite and ancient end of eternity,

Dawn still rises, slowly, stubbornly,

Locking away her deepest secret.