And so we went, we of the empty hands,
With frozen smiles, for our tears were run dry,
We carried our lives as we left our lands,
But our soul stayed and watched our feet trudge by.
Tired step after step on alien stone,
That had welcomed us once, but spurned us then,
From that day no land would call us its own,
Save those graves we dug in some nameless glen.
And still we could not leave the pain behind,
Of burning homes, torched with that hate-filled stare
That watched yet as we sought that pain more kind:
Life; dispossessed of all save our dispair.
Our days, all past and yet to come, were not,
The selves that we had known we now forgot.
Nik Trevallyn-Jones. 1996.