Come, Muse, and sing the song of journey.
Sing ye of bright-eyed Odysseus,
Man of Pain, setting sail for yonder Troy,
Of Private Numeral, auspicious, would-be
Father, setting sail for our desTroy.
Glory and Pride of the Nation.
Sing ye of new beginning: the breaking
Sun on that yonder horizon where all
Is new, is bright, unknown! Integrity.
Displacing the shadows of incorrigible night.
Bearing the banner of promise and of hope.
Damned fools! These are not for you!
What avails you for all your sailing? For
Vaunted dedication, love, and passion?
How find you your horizon yonder? And
Who, (perhaps two) will bring a glad report?
Now you return, Odysseus, Man of Pain. Your
beloved home at last! But we dared not go.
No!– Stayed-we. Watched-we. Waited for your
report. Silhouettes against your setting sun.
But now surely we will know:
Would you go again?
Will we go tomorrow?
But what of those who do not return?
