O, birds of the trees
and mice of the hills
on the wings of the breeze
come the seldom felt chills.
Open your eyes.
Look to the skies.
The wind whistle cries
of the visit.
Lay down your strife
O, men of the land.
A beauty of life
is swiftly at hand.
Breathe in the air.
Breathe out your care.
In this, you prepare
for the visit.
O, come winds of might!
O, come clouds of gray!
Bring down the white:
brighten dismay!
Lay on the scene.
Make it serene.
Let silence be seen
in the visit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem