Dusty records, fading, aging,
disapearing from our minds.
Tales of vermin, tales of goodbeasts,
songs and poems, harsh and kind.
Dust has settled on their covers,
bindings cracked and pages torn.
Some tales shall never be retold,
some oaths shall never be resworn.
Bit by bit our past, it crumbles,
incromprehensible and smeared.
Warriors and healers gone,
their legacy has disapeared.
But if we know not of our forebears,
and what mistakes they made,
then how do we expect to follow
and not do the same?