She walks alone in the darkness
In the midst of sleeping meadows
Lined with thorny hedges and deep forests
The night stretches out its mantle of veils
She hears the voice of the oaks And the sound of crickets
The stars are red,
crown of diamonds The sky spurs out like a black wing
The moon whispers to her tales of women of old
She walks alone in the darkness
Her steps glance in the softness of the moors
She follows the paths of the deers to a forest
A clearing where a giant grows
The king of oaks awaits her in the round glade
The old tree spreads over her its great foliage
Under the ground,
the living niche,
work of the broods The moon whispers to her tales of women of old
She feels its strength,
she feels the flow The crimson sugar of light
She's right over there,
she feels one With the earth and with the sky
She's herself and
she's more