Sunset
Night is to come
A roaming thought
Tread further
Led by, escorted by
A talisman hid into a leatherbag
Inside, inside
Hid in fog
Where ground of moss
Covers, cloaks
Its being for death
Gathering among the stone

A crash from the ground
Blood breaking up
Song of woods creaking, squeaking
The night is but
An ardent murmur of the dead

Wismen on the tree
Hooting hour after hour
Restless shaggy horde
Howling by the mountainside
Cry mourning into the face,
the wrinkles of the spelling Moon
Sing for the
Decaying ones in forest litter
Murmur words
For coming crowns of trees
For they feel the end of good days
Mourning mountains rule, grow immense
For the new Mother Earth
Aiag (Gaia)!