Winds of sorrow
gust up over the hillside,
covered with the barren trees
and littered
with the crackling of dead leaves.
Though spring now,
winter's ghost is howling
outside the window,
making day seem dark
with momentary night.
Flee the cavalcade of lamenting noise,
which rides the currents of the air.
Flee traveler,
for there is tragedy in it,
dying perhaps, running from the already dead.
The shaking of the once steady trees
brings a certain fear
to his unready heart.
Shadow, dragged from mountain depths
gives rise to unbearable exhaustion.
Temptress,
the sleep of ages sings,
drawing the traveler off his well made path.
Walk now on the dark road,
some unheard voice does chant.
Find the ways of darkness,
and the groping blindness of the grave.
Formless the air now billows up
and shifts the branches from their pose.
The traveler is lost among the trees.
