The dry tundra calls to you Whispering a phrase A memory that flows In between and through The forest needle and pine Something lies beyond Far past the snow and sterile ice Over the great mountains The places of our birth Nothing more than an inclination That all we hope there to be Has not yet been made know That the secret hidden for ages Has in turn hidden us within it Preserving us in a way unseen That when the time does come In far flung ages hence All things might be revealed And the barren wastes Turn to fruitful gardens