Of seeds are born all sacred things,
All trees, all thoughts, all sacred songs;
By seeds inspired a songbird sings
of times long past, of rights and wrongs.

In songs are borne all memory,
Old wisdom kept for times of need.
Ancestral ghosts of history
Awakened now by songs and seeds.

Of spirits born my need and will,
I beg the ancient ghost's advice.
Arising from his barrow hill,
A hunter sings of sacrifice.

Three of us together always, in those days so bleak,
He the strongest hunter of us, kept us safe and fed,
She so gentle, wise, and caring, guardian of the meek,
I a friend to both these hearthmates, since the day they wed.

Every day in ravaged darkness, I sought hope in song,
Seeking words of power and beauty, to heal and inspire.
'Gainst despair wrote songs and poems, but they all went wrong,
'Til one day I heard faint music, glimpsed an argent lyre.

Ghostly voice, divine and lovely, bred a song in me;
Filled my voice with dulcet power, wisdom in the words.
Ellindel was set to dancing, woke and healed the fae;
To the forest sang Glinshari, squirrels, trees, and birds.

Scars of Soulless slowly healing, joy against despair;
Joy to be at last a poet, hope my music brought.
But amongst those happy moments, in a thankful prayer,
Once I glimpsed a frightful future, wisdom lost, forgot.

All our hard and painful lessons, kept until need's day.
All at once I saw how I might see them never lost.
Long I thought and long I struggled, seeking for a way
That I might preserve this wisdom, without such a cost.

Every path would twist and turn back, every prey elude
Bringing me back to my duty, what I knew must be.
Only in a ghostly spirit are memories renewed;
To me fell this sacrifice, the spirit must be me.

This wisdom borne from years before,
The spirit raised a ghostly hand;
He bowed his head, could not stay more,
Then Chuchip returned to his cairn.