The thread of Tanitris

Blesseth be the sound and voice,
Blesseth Eye within the night,
Blesseth the eternal pattern,
One of void and one of might,

Of Tanitris' heart of form,
Its fruit in everdancing stride,
As summer lindens' fragrance light.
Its surface - depth, its core - the side.

The flow of time, the flow of form,
How both have flirted much alike,
Alas the root has tasted flight,
The dance has ceased and is no more.

The shape lies still, the flow intact.
Their time cannot be pinned exact,
What once flew light and free as lark,
Has lost its glorious, gentle spark.

Now not the Garden, nor Plateau,
The trunk grows deep into the void.
Its roots run deep into the soul,
And brush so gently on its shore.

Let Gathering once more awake
The sacred knowledge of the yore.
Of Tanitris, its bloom and leaves,
So forth its shape may be reborn.