The Soul Tree Bell

In the old lands, his mother said, lying, dying in the bed,

Stands a tree of ancient age, long out living eldest sage,

Upon the gnarled grisly knell, he stands there holding pig iron bell.

Soon I'll die and rest will come, these cold nights then delivered from,

And in to furnace maw I'll head, ashes left of mother dead,

And to this tree must I be born, or ever shall my ghost be shorn.

To the hill in far off land, delivered, please, by my son's hand.

On to the place be given then, the remnants of your origin,

Then take the striker of the bell, and strike strong, hard, and well.

Your mother then shall rest abide, there where woes are set aside,

Among old kin and friends and folk, under spirit sheltering oak,

The soul tree guards us well, with the keening of the bell.

After death stole breath away, to his journey son obey.

Through Neptune's squall and siren's call,

Through mighty hale and wind's fierce gale

He bore his burden in his arms, seeking oldest lands and farms

And as the old lands, where old things dwell, neared, he sighted tree and bell

Approached in awe the mighty tree, eldest he would ever see.

The ashes scattered on the ground, the bell he reached up there to sound,

NO the voice of many shout, leave the striker lone young lout.

All around him ghosts do wail, leave now, or never sail

The revenant host of Satan calls, against us boy? You've not the balls

A thousand tidings you would send, bearing us to Cerberus' end

In those gates locked away, for our sins we be made to pay.

But strong stood the boy against the hoard, fear and loyalty in him warred

Dare he defy these angry wisps, what left of him but soot and crisps?

But in his heart his memory called, and so to little fists he balled.

Shouting out against them all, harkening to his matron's call

Mother ne'er let me down, screaming spirits voices drown

Come all you wraiths of hell, here I ring the soul tree's bell!

The jaws of lord wrath took them all, leaving screaming after all

And only good souls left to tread, the eldest land of eldest dead

To the ground the young boy smiled, even though he be but child

Many summers pass him by, and in his time he to will die

And onto son's child the task be placed, the path of boy must then be traced,

And then upon earth's oldest swell, ring again the soul tree bell.