Gorsedd

Through the mountain flows a river,

And above its waters stands an arcade.

As you walk through its arches, there is a song,

Where pillars stand, triumphant, hewn in stone.

But time yields softly, and from the stone has grown a garden,

Blooming in silver, shifting always in the mist.

For here, the light no longer lingers in the mist,

As boats drift softly down the river,

And their lanterns catch the glow of the garden.

They bring their wares to barter in the arcade,

Where each shop bears a different shade of stone,

And sings, in turn, its own forgotten song.

All along the mountain, life awakens in song,

But still, the winding paths are veiled in mist.

Once wild, its slopes are now bound in stone,

And every road must find the river.

For trade, for love, for life itself—the heart is in the arcade,

Yet where the mist dares not touch, the land remains a garden.

Fountains, flowers, fairies, and little glowing fires shape the garden,

And each forgotten path along the mountain whispers an untold song.

Families, friends, and lovers long-lost weave through the halls and hovels of the arcade,

While guards keep watch for hidden foes within the mist.

Strange beings—monsters, spirits, demented beasts—rise slowly from the river,

And statues wake, as though never shaped from stone.

Atop the mountain stands a temple of stone,

Where monks still tend the ever-blooming garden.

Their hands draw water, cool and pure, from the river,

And through the halls, their voices rise in song.

Here, no shadows twist or gather in the mist,

For sacred fires burn within the arcade.

All life brims and spills into the arcade,

As the mountain's heart beats deep in stone.

The city sends its travelers beyond its walls and into the mist,

To seek lost secrets in the endless garden.

Their voices rise in echoes, bound in song,

As wealth and stories flow home through the river.

Sometimes, their bodies drift back through the river,

As lanterns cast hollow light upon their faces, floating toward the arcade.

Their silence turns the echoes of song into stone,

And their flesh fades, swallowed by the garden,

Forever lost within the rising mist.