In the cosmic expanse, veils are thinned,
And a whisper threads through ancient woods;
"Rise up, rise up," the winds intone,
"To where the sun spills gold across the morn."
Beyond the hillock lies your mirror,
In dew-wet grass, the shimmer of truth;
Pass through the gate of forest dreams,
And find your shadow in the hawk's cry.
There are labyrinths in the mind's cradle,
Stone paths aged by a walking sun;
Unseen hands guide your steps, deliberate,
Each echo a syllable in the sacred song.
Embrace the twilight, all hues gather here,
For what is night's cloak but an invitation?
In the flashing moment, in the silent drum,
Your name is carved amid eternal stars.