With gentle hands he unwrapped her 
from the tooled leather casing 
that sheltered the golden oak of her form. 

"-s beautiful" he murmered 
stroking the glowing lute. 
"She's the most beautiful instrument 
that I've ever laid eyes on." 

"Aye, that she be, that she be" 
her crafter murmered 
"she has a voice like honey too 
pure as dawn and twice as sweet. 
Carved her me-self, the lovely 
from a dryad's oak - so the woodsmith claimed she came. 
tis sad the story of m'lady lute. 
the dryad be trapped in that golden cage 
and she sings perhaps, when you play 'er" 

And the man with silver eyes 
and blue black hair 
traced each grain line 
with a lover's care- 
took up the lady Lithingale 
and tuned her til she sang. 
Tears sprang to his eyes 
as he slowly played 
a loverly duet, 
and with him the spirit 
proud and sure sang 
and both crafter and player openly wept. 
when the song ended 
the man held the lute tight 
and not a chance would he set her aside 
her voice still ringing 
filling the air 
"my dear one, its about time." 

and he laughed as she broke up the mood then 
and with loving care cased her once more 
"I must have her, craftman. No haggling." 

and the crafter, with a smile 
"a gift to you then, for clear as starshine 
she'll have no other now, Lithingale is yours." 

*** 
and so together my Bard and I sang 
for ages we wandered and played 
and then, though it saddens me in a way 
the music for a time faded away 
and through the gate once more I went 
and stood for a time between stones 
a Lute no longer, 
but filled with the Notes 
I journeyed onward once more. 
I was Lithingale 
I still hear the music