The fir trees held secrets, murmured eternities ago
and here, beneath unfamiliar moons, you emerge once more
timeless flow of whispered song.
"We shall meet by the glistening boulders," she said,
where the feathers of dawn brush the shadow's edge.
Ways forgotten linger in hushed air,
tideline secrets guarded by solemn mist.
"Turn thrice, but not four," the voice murmured,
and the twilight mirrors shall reveal your tale anew.