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If these trees of old could speak, ... oh the stories they could tell, a time when might sat high upon its mountains |
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Those days of pride blew away with the wind |
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But now silence rules this land and everything seems to be mute |
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Only the streams are weeping mournfully but if you listen their cries you can hear they're whispering and say: "We will conquer what once was ours" |
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Centuries pass and the trees of the forest have grown thicker and stronger, the snow sparkles in the winter sun, a raven perches high upon a snowy branch to view the landscape. |
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As I walk along this winter path |
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I think to myself will it ever be as it was when mighty people of long ago roamed these lands. |
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When I cupped my hands to drink at a pool of water near a stream, |
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I realized the answer was yes, for the wind blew the trees so the sun shone against the water and |
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I saw my reflection, ... |
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I saw the portrait of a heathen. |
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And I hear as the stream whispers... |
