As the trees fade, and laugh to mock in the edge of day
Not where vast familiar surroundings lay with feeling
And where worlds of people will always stay
But where one has flown the nest in complete dismay
So what shall the bird say when she’s flown far away
From her wintery land; to the deserts right below
Where sand strays across the endless hills of pain
Haunt the everlasting foot of land to the very last row?
What will she do when the winter never decides to show
Across the meadow of nothing in a world of unfamiliarity
Will she set her course for the north again or set towards
Anew nomads land where nothing exists but her spirituality?
