A sliver of golden flame

Ripped violently across

The midnight veil.

And buried itself deep

Upon what used to be

Our rolling hills.

And for quite a while

Nobody could approach,

For the searing, sizzling heat

And the otherworldly smoke.

The rain that fell and the wind that blew

Soon came to make those old hills new

And now we know our home

As Cool Ruck Landing.

And from that place, we began again

To build, and comprehend

The stories of our past

In the shadow of the

Stone, so tall.