Our footsteps fall
With light-tread tracks,
Unlike the missiles
That fly high above.

Why do we run?
Little Girl asks,
Why must we hide?
Innocence, warm and wide.

All-encompassing,
All too trusting—
We run because the stars
Have been kicked out of the night.

It’s a race, my dear,
A dark and exciting race.
The booming and crying,
The running and hiding,
It’s the last game before
God calls us near.

Where are we going?
We’re going home.
We will tell Papa what we have heard and seen,
And Mama will hang us new stars to put in our dreams.