Riverwood - Where The Stones Still Sing

I walked where the nettles bend low to the brook, Where the birch trees lean with eyes that look. The moss gave my name to the hollow root’s ring, And the wind told the tale that the old stones sing. Oh the stones still sing and the trees still know, And the fire in the hill keeps a gentle glow. The beasts don’t speak, but they know my soul, And I walk as a guest in a world made whole. The antlered ghost at the edge of the trail Bowed her crown through the morning veil. She left no print, yet I knew her grace— A whisper of bark, the breath of place. Oh the stones still sing and the trees still know, And the fire in the hill keeps a gentle glow. The beasts don’t speak, but they know my soul, And I walk as a guest in a world made whole. I do not rule, I do not reign, I drink from leaves, I dance in rain. Each death I mourn, each bloom I praise— All is sacred in the wild ways. The crow flew east with a warning cry, The river wept where bones did lie. But still I walk, and still I give— For all things pass, and all things live. Oh the stones still sing and the trees still know, And the fire in the hill keeps a gentle glow. The beasts don’t speak, but they know my soul, And I walk as a guest in a world made whole.