As the night gives birth to the day,
As the pale moon waxes and wanes,
Seasons merge into countless ages.
The memory of oaks and sages;
Known only to oaks and sages.
It remains a mystery to see
How the tiniest seeds become trees.
And the hill-trickle of melting snow,
It will be a river that flows;
The life-giving river that flows.
Nothing will last longer than stone,
But for the Earth's spirits alone.
Death will not cease us to be,
The Cycle spins eternally;
Twilight to dawn, eternally.
author unkown