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How chill is morning, how cold its melody. |
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On a season of withering, when time stands still |
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I listened and the wind spoke to me, |
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I heard the woods sing to me. |
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Reciting poems and myths, from earliest of ages |
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Shadow of a crooked rowan tree, looks more like a bear in sleep |
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Season fades along with its leaves, until one plough day earth covers earth |
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Cold, son of the wind, freeze the winter willows |
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Chill the birch chunks, |
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Cold, son of the wind |
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I listened and the rain whispered to me, |
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I heard the streams murmur my name. |
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Shared their timeless wisdom, a cruel tale of nature unveiled |
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Until one plough day earth covers earth |
