An owl glided among the trees.

Only the light of stars wanted

The dusk to be buried by the night.

Seeing their march, hiding into cowls

And holding torches, with the chosen words,

Now they spoke the storms.

OSTARA! HEARD!

The clouds came, the nature awoke.

Rain drops fell into the fallen leaves,

And the flames died for this rebeemer moment.

Their flying dreams,

The celebration of nature.

Encouraging, way-showing sign of the screaming silence.

Their voice fell with them,

As the owl to the funeral of the storm


Sing,

For your souls' awakening for dance on this chily,

But rebeemed night.