Sweet spirits of the Redwoods,
fading in and out of view,
flit silently through the still night air
as I sit listening.

Voices of Tsol'aa past
barely reach my ear.
Jumbled are the words
which call to me in the stillness.

Where have we gone?
they ask me incessantly.
What have we become,
and to whom do we belong?

The forest is empty;
bare of those who once loved it,
once cherished it,
once gave their lives for it.

The trees linger in stifled pain,
longing to fellowship
with those connected to them,
with those whose hearts are locked with their own.

How I long to ease their beckoning pain;
how I long to see my people
return to their home
and rekindle a lost flame.

Come, all ye wandering Tsol'aa;
connect with your redwood kindred.
Bring your hearts where they belong;
come home to those that await your return.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Haernos, in the year 160 MA.