Hope stalks the roads from ruin,
The ones that dawnward wind away.
Yet for all those that dreams do in,
There are those they lead not astray.

Hungry is the heart of this Hope,
And deadlier their tooth and claw,
Yet everywhere those pawprints lope,
A ragged crowd does wanting draw.

What blossoms in the lion's tread,
Prints damp with tomorrow's due?
The great beast devours our dread,
So that -what- shall be born anew?

-Grek