The Keeper knows of deeper things
Of ancient times and Arlathan
She knows the rituals and the rites
From when we walked in Elvhenan.
She knows how one should speak a prayer
And how to write down history
Some say she knows all one can know
But others smile, and point to me.
My knowing’s of a different kind
Not quite as old, though no less true
It’s knowledge found in threads of life
That all can learn, but little do.
My secrets cannot train a mage
Nor lead us back to glory pasts –
But as we slowly lose our grasp
Of what we were, my knowledge lasts.
I know which colours of the sky,
Which shape of clouds, mean it will rain
And when to furl the wagon sails
And when to fold them out again.
I know when meat is good and cooked
What colour proper tea should be
And how to braid a maiden’s hair
And weave it through with chicory.
I know which boys will get which girls
Or girls get girls, or boys get boys
I know which herbs will last the cold
And which the touch of fr