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.