North is north, and south is south,
But east is west, and west is east.
I can guide you through the waters of old,
Yet few today would recognize my mold.
I depict a thing of great beauty,
A blanket of sorts to cover the dreamy.
But if one were to draw in my folds,
There’d be belts and beasts and more to behold.
I spin a tale of gods, time, and morality,
Much of it lost now, depending on your locality,
But to gaze upon me is to see the gates of heaven fade,
For it is only of trees that I am made.
What am I?
An answer will be posted in a few weeks, if none have guessed correctly.