Within the misty late year's forest

In times when slouds and trees stand empty

Nine thousand wolves are gathered in the snow

To raise a long and greyish howl.



Ebony black the earth went into the night

Re-awoken, covered now in silver white

Softly veiled by sparking moisture

Out of the wolwes ' throats up to the sky.



Lap of sunrise sweated by birth pains

its child - a cold red fireball

Sharp silhouettes of old and tired eyes

Their cradle stuffed with leaves and fog.



Impossible to march the shortest way today

Come forth tied up all in wolwes' breath

Early , therefore , the evening approaches

it is the time of Winter Soltice.