Listen my child, listen to my voice.

The gentle whisper of the wind,

The howling cry of my pain when I die


My answers are your mysteries,

My roots are your foundation, as

My memories are your future.


Close your sleepy eyes,

And let me tell you my story, the

Story of the land, of the creatures. The

Story of time.


My quiet voice is thorny to hear,

In a painful language; it's intricate to understand,

Yet my child, do not shun my love.


Dream with your foolish eyes.

Nevertheless, remember the reality,

The heavy prints from your bloody route.

As I will be there, and

My voice will be there.