On lonely nights
I see the ghosts
Of those from yesteryear
They're in the stones
and alleyways
They chatter. They make cheer.
'Round every corner
you can see
a group of two or three
In the tavern
at the crossroads
but they speak not to me.

They smile, they fuss
they fight and cuss
and yet, it seems to be
These spirits of
our yesteryears
are more alive than we.
A puff of smoke
and gentle cough
and now I'm all alone
and all the ghosts
of yesteryear
Are back within the stones

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Lupar, in the year 1013 AF.