It's blue the touch of frozen sea,
It's touch leaves man still colder.
Beloved by men on bended knees,
It levels from the shoulder.
It follows us as friend and foe,
Arm of hope or fist of soldier.
It swims the tides of joy and woe,
With it weak hearts grow bolder.
And though men wish to have no kings
and live together in peace,
They all must dance when this bird sings
and march into the breach.
One Hoopy Frood.
Last edited by Wingnut357; 05-02-2008 at 11:01..