Since kithood I've worn the blue stone.
It's closer to me than my name.
When I feel the mire holding me firm,
And I know there's no leaving this place...
Then I take the stone in paw,
And as leg and thigh slip down
I peer down into the blue,
And think my soul into the stone.
Then I take the stone from my neck,
And while I am free to bend
I lean and lay it down.
As I had hoped, it floats;
My wet flesh will sink in wet earth
But the blue stone belongs to the sky.
I lift up my face to the sky.
I whisper my name to the wind;
As it blows it will whisper my name
Through the grass, over rocks, over earth.
The mire takes me, belly and chest,
Embraces my shoulders, my neck.
For the last time I gaze at the stone;
And then bow my head to the mire.
I surrender myself to the earth.

I am sunk in the deep of the mire,
The wet earth that cradles my bones,
And I'm here in the floating blue stone,
Peering up through the stone at the sky.
If you'd find me then look for the stone,
For the sharp glint of blue on the mire.
Sit on the safe rock by the mire.
Whisper your name to the wind,
Let your name blow with mine through the grass;
Look up with me at the sky.

Scribe's note: This was shorter in the original hare language. Much shorter.