Churn.

The eve before discovery, we wait
on crested waves of fear and churning hope.
Which unturned stone is poised to change our fate?
What prize is perched atop that dizzy slope?

So run, alive, with me these ancient trails,
and stand on stones ten centuries stacked!
We’ll fly those waves with pregnant sails,
We’ll climb these walls and trek the long-trod paths.

Tomorrow’s sun arises elsewhere new.
So sit with me as this prevailing dawn
alights another land we never knew;
alights this hopeful fear, and ever on.

I do not know the way, but walk with me.
From home, to shore, beyond this churning sea.