Silently a dark deer encounters at the edge
Of the forest;
The evening wind dies softly on the hill,
The blackbird's lament grows mute
And the gentle flutes of autumn
Lie still in the reeds.
On a black cloud
Drunk with poppy you travel
The nocturnal pond,
The starry sky.
Always the lunar voice of the sister resounds
Through the sacred night.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt