The Fallen Shall Rise

Where the rose dreamed in the summer
Only faint dust;
Where the warm earth kissed the ploughshare,
A dim bloom of rust;
And the bonds of a perilous hope
On humanity's trust.

But the winds of the morning shall waken
A lovelier flower;
The force of the land heal the plough of
Its rust-ridden hour;
And we, who are bound in the darkness,
Are heralds of power.

K.N.N.