A river runs at their feet, behind them a leafy copse,
Away on the other shore the fields of grain
Lie sleeping peacefully in the starlight.
Tonight the world is theirs, a legacy
From those who lived familiar friends with river, field and forest—
Their forebears—
Through the night the same earth-magic moves them
That swayed those ancient ones, long dead—
And these, too, lean and drink,
Drink deeply from the river, the flowing river of life.