In the drowse, a blinking street lamp
watchful eye of sort.
Once half seen flame, the beacon flickers
amidst the cobbled slumber.
Awakened by one ray of hope,
the sleeping nation rose.
In perfumed glory, freedom rang,
undreamt, their dreams emerged
to light the New Dawn brightest on
not red, not white, not blue,
but on the Lady's shadowed grace
to witness shore to shore.
And as my trembling hand embraced
the light that once seemed dim,
I wiped a sea of tears away
having lived to see this day.