Remember the hill and forest, when young –
The green, the nightingale, colored perfumes,
Your native sky, your realm, not to be touched.
Come to me, battle-scarred and weary one.
Lay down your weapons, remove your armor,
Let me touch you - a breeze rustles the leaves.
Take my hand, adventure in the perfect
Wilderness of your hill, copse, thicket and
Sun struck clearings, take me to your refuge.
Battle-worn and lonely warrior, closer,
Lay down your arms and take me, take me there.
Breathe the green, the colored perfumes, taste peace
Sweet as spring water, the nightingale sings.
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