A Dance as Old as Stone

Beneath the craggy, frost-kissed peaks, where mountain airs do blow,
The d'geft dwell, a solitude, in realms of stone and snow.
Not as we, their lives they lead, in hollow halls of stone,
Passing through the mountain's heart, existing all alone.

In silence, through the granite walls, they glide without a trace,
Their forms, of living stone composed, in elemental grace.
To catch a d'geft is to bind his will, and the earth's strength to own,
Bearing the might of the mountain's heart, in flesh and blood and bone.

Yet such power comes at a price, for freedom is their way,
And to bind such a being, might make the land itself betray.
D'geft's death tolls not in mortal ears, but in the earth's deep moan,
Its soul weighs heavy on tectonic plates, where seeds of quakes are sown.

Ruptures long and quakes that last, a century's grim refrain,
Speak of a d'geft's passing, a testament of pain.
Yet from this turmoil, a birth shall rise, with a new dawn's hopeful light,
For within the mountain's fresh-born heart, a new d'geft sparks to life.

Thus the cycle spins again, a dance as old as stone,
In these secret, shifting realms, where d'geft are born and grown.
So let them pass, these stone-borne souls, for the earth is their domain,
And to hold such power in mortal hands, might rend the world with pain.

For we are but transient beings, bound by time's swift flow,
While the d'geft are as the mountains, enduring, firm, and slow.
In their stone-carved existence, a wisdom we might glean,
Of living with the earth, in a balance yet unseen.