Five year old Giri, blessed with insight,
orated an ancient language, untaught.
Nor guardian nor aided by divine light,
recited the script, but its roots not sought.
Then a lineage found - thousand years old,
an ancestral monk that spoke Giri’s tongue
whose vast knowledge his memory cell stored-
reborn and revived when Giri’s cell sung.
Now, monk’s small village Giri could describe-
the road, house, farm, friends, and the wishing well.
How he longed to visit his long lost tribe
as each picture breathed deep, and excelled.
Soon would he cross over to native shore,
trace back his legacy of ancient store.