The Ballad of Adin and Rue

There were once two boys,

born in a town just seconds apart.

They lived in joy and shared their noise,

all day and not depart.

Rue, each day, would find a tree

and carve a whistle of bark.

Adin would blow, then sing a melody,

‘til twilight cloaked the dark.

But one day, Rue was gone from sight—

and the wind answered none

Still, Adin came at noon each night,

beneath their tree, at one.

There he’d find a whistle new,

shaped by Rue’s caring hand.

He’d lift it up— a song was due—

and play where they would stand.

He’d race back home, everyday

his breath wild, cheeks so red.

He would shout and swear by Frey

“Rue sang with me, he did!”

Seasons passed, the wheat turned gold,

and Adin’s voice grew pained.

Yet still he played those flutes of old,

and sang beneath the rain.

The people whispered, “It’s just wind—

no friend, no whistle, no song.”

But Adin sang, and sing he did

for a reply he only longed.

Today beneath the oaken shade,

where loss and love are spun,

you’ll hear the song the two once made—

a song that’s just begun.