A poem by Toc Anaster.
- "The shadows lie on the field like the dead
From night's battle as the sun lifts high its standard
Into the dew-softened air
The children rise like flowers on stalks
To sing unworded songs we long ago surrendered
And the bees dance with great care
You might touch this scene with blessing
Even as you settle the weight of weapon in hand
And gaze across this expanse
And vow to the sun another day of blood"