The wind with its tunes from the villages in valley depths
Hushed him to sleep on beds of bleeding geraniums

Moonlight blanketed his shawls and soul

On paths gracefully lit by comets
Tall shadows and lost children walked

The stars shone valiantly as if crosses
On the altarpiece of the night

All of them shone on him
And in the dreams of all the crestfallen children he rose to the summit

In search of the angelic voice that guided him through the realm of the night
As the night fell to his soul it was as if her kisses caressed his cheeks

Through dark forests haunted by forgotten wishes he trudged
With every footstep
Her voice grew more vivid and full of life, The voice of a mother’s longing