The Psychotic Elf (Continued)

[The Fifth]

Calad looked at Thengise. The light in his eyes flickered a moment, then glowed steadily for a while. The dragon cocked its head, listening, as he started another round of song.

The morning star rises in skies old
reflecting upon leaves like pearls of gold,
in the rising skies the fire shoots
and a flying owl hoots.
Under boughs of glowing trees
blows the morning breeze,
western winds bring the truth
avoiding the gaze of dragon's tooth.

Stars may wander
over other skies yonder,
but the morning goes on.
The golden moon is dead and gone
and the Sun is rising fast.
The Sun remembers the past
and all that goes between it,
for in the sky he shall sit.

Darkness falls
and light calls;
the Sun plays host
for the shining ghost
that once moved among the sky.
For past old is not to shun
the morning stars and the Sun.

In a name of hope
was lent an invisible rope
towards the light, towards the light,
of the star-dome in sight.
Above the leaves
the evening grieves,
for light has come.

Darkness falls
and light calls;
the Sun plays host
for the shining ghost
that once moved among the sky.
For past old is not to shun
the morning stars and the Sun.

He finished it now, and fell to the ground with a very soft thump and the splatter of mud onto the back of his ragged cloak. The light began to fade again, but came back in violent jerks as he glanced from Thengise to the scenery in front of him.