When Boreas doth breathe his icy breath, The earth dons a cloak of slumbered death. Hesperus, with frosty kiss, chills the night, Till Phoebus returns to renew the light.

Soft as a whisper, pale as peace, I carry no blade, yet wars may cease. I fly with a message, ancient and true, From floods to vows, I’m known to you.

Bold seafarer clad in iron, sails the northern winds, where gods whisper in the frost and tales of conquest echo through time.

where up is no different than down, and radiation is highly abound, there are but a few who have had this honor, and sadly a few have not made it home. this trip is one way, as there is no quick way, to help them in a disaster. where rotation is a need, and lack of altitude can spell doom, heat shields better be in order. these lucky few, have waited for the candle to be lit, while most would much rather not sit.

Born in silence, fed on leaves, I am torn from living sleep. Worms die so kings may shine. I crossed empires soaked in blood, passed hand to hand through plague and greed. Roads were named for me, yet I never chose the journey.