“The path is a ribbon of moonlight across a dusky sea.
The wind sings a song that beckons us
To that great and mighty tree.

We are the Greenowls of Ambala, clad in raiments of moss,
Sprigged with lichens and grasses
Then gilded with silvery frost.

Fair and square we play- for a sporting lot we are.
We ride the boisterous Balefire gusts
And we reach for every star.”