Along the upper stream, in the summer mountains, the witches watch.
Back in the city, they call them old growth.
Each one has their own assortment of spells.
Once you learn that fact, you realize why the forest looks as it does
And if you dance upon a carpeted trail, it may sound hollow beneath your feet.
You must know that it’s not an emptiness.
The witches invented graveyards.
For old wisdom knows that bones carry power, giving life to whoever lives within them.
And when you see a dead witch, you will not wonder why it’s still alive.
The bones resonate, hum a deafening song, cast deep spells.
Along the upper stream, in the summer mountains
Life gives death a living name.