Song of the Red Stone Cave

In the red stone cave where the echoes sleep,
An old song rises from the canyon deep.
A flute is lifted to the twilight’s ear—
Its trembling breath calls the spirits near.

Beside the player, the wolf stands tall,
Its silver voice answering the musical call.
Two songs woven like threads of night—
One born of earth, one born of light.

The elders say when silence breaks,
And the heart remembers the path it takes,
The flute becomes a river of air,
Carrying prayers to the ones who care.

The wolf, the guardian of shadowed ways,
Sings the truth of forgotten days—
Of moons that guided the hunter’s stride,
Of dreams where ancestors walk beside.

Together they stand where worlds align,
Where mortal breath meets the sacred sign.
The notes swirl up in a mystic fire,
Lifting the soul like a funeral pyre.

Oh traveler, listen—do not fear:
This is the place where the veil grows clear.
Where music mends what time tore through,
And every howl remembers you.