Classic Poem

Sage of the tribe, nay, most resplendent of sages, raises the animal's sign and its vows to the king of the wild, ascending and descending that rocky slope overlooking the canopies of sunset, where thunderbolts retire to bed, leaving their fires outside to flash in the shadows, the fitful shadows, and in the air their royal recklessness.

The silent sage of the tribe raises his horns, high, above mountain mist, as one who guides the wandering stone.