Along a wooded path in forest of memory
There lies a knife-carved rune upon an ash-wood tree
Berkana, there below the silver rosaries
And the red-green-gold of falling autumn leaves
The dead leaves wet and slick underfoot, and branches bare
Cold greeting for the shadow of the memory’s traveler there
As he took a knee beneath the ash-wood tree, despair
For he found only bones in that forest of memory
Only broken bones, and silent nights, and empty air