Sacred Histories

Come, my child, hark to the tale 
The poets weave for our world: 
Hear the prophets sing the song 
Of earth rolling on her wings— 
Behold, the story of spirits, 
The trail a pillar of light blazes. 
Forsake all else and follow; 
Study, my son, my daughter, 
For the time, rapt and joyous, 
You watch victory unscrolled. 
And after silence, 
Trumpet songs, unsealings, and time no longer, 
Still we will have the Books, my child, 
The Books.