A path through mists does carefully roll Lights guide its way though dark and doleful.
The trees before the castle - as broken guards do stand
Protecting with their bodies - and nourishing all the land.
The air was frosty, cold, biting.
Pious pews able back and barely leave a path Of flagstones that fill the Franciscan church with fervor.
The rough work of a day In a granary will stay.
Straight lines of fruit baring hope stand conscience Of darkened paths which cut between its rows.