Was there fear in Artica

when blue stone turned to grey?

Was there love in Grecia

when the blood began to play?

Was there grace in Artica

when candlelight was mist?

Was there faith in Grecia

when wax and granite kissed?

Will there be life in Artica

when perfect rain is dry?

Will there be hope in Grecia

when the glass begins to cry?

Yes, there is peace in Artica,

for that is why it stands.

But, there are none in Grecia

who hold forth marbled hands.