The ancient, the old
Forgotten tales are told
By one who’s done remembering,
One who’s gone Decembering,
One who’s on now timbering
Through woods of hinter history
That hold the winter mystery
Of whence came all the snow
For they are cloud and cold,
They are what life allows,
They are then for now,
If tales remain aflame
It’s ’cause one goes on embering.
Do you play or make the game?
Are you living or remembering?