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Old and distant rings the tale
Of the feet that once walked
Of the wolf that once stalked
On the sloping mountain trail

For a time the rivers would run
Water beings streamed to the call
Of the fiddler's form from the fall
While gradually the birds wept for the passing of the sun

Eventually the old mountains turned to cold
Veiled as they were by the winter's spectre
Who lay himself wide, bound by tether
As most creatures fled, leaving only the hearty to hold

And there in the dark of night
Was a small window shining gold
And a fierce hearth fighting the cold
The house where we sleep and hide out of sight

For from beyond the welkin, where engrossing elders speak
Incomprehensible as winds bellow, oceans rise
And mountains crumble
The firmament no longer requires
What it is that we know as life

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