Ancient Spirits and Modern Echoes

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Beneath the yew where shadows creep,
Old gods stir in their ancient sleep.
Wind through branches, low and deep,
Carries secrets the earth will keep.

The raven circles, black wings wide,
The wolf runs silent by my side.
The stream remembers, the hills confide,
That nothing of spirit can truly hide.

Time bury, kings fall,
The cross rise, the legions call.
Yet still the oak, the ash, the hall
Of memory holds us, one and all.

So walk the path where twilight sings.
Where death is end, yet also brings
The turning wheel, the flight of wings
The soul reborn in endless rings.

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