732 - On account of it being national poetry month or international poetry month or something like that yesterday

Knotted through the days,
Slipping through the hands,
With a sea on the standby,
We waited for home.

Ships crossing by,
Skirting green lands,
With mountains on the alert,
We waited for home.

And home came slowly,
Bloody, tear-soaked and grand
Our fortress against time,
Our castle in the sand.