To say that you, blessed father, bless us with your tears is an insult, an insult to the years. Once; where lands were empty of man, your voice still rumbled across the fields. To cry to you, blessed mother, to heed us with your embrace is to belittle, to belittle our fears. Once; where no shelter was given to man, your bosom still held our cries. To rage against you, storm god, is to know futility, futility of love. Where no end was known of man, your arms found us; once.