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Can you see the eyes in ancient pines?

Can you hear forgotten words?

Can you smell how salt and smoke collide?

Can you feel the wetness of the stones?

Can you ever understand the way

The forests run their turns?

Can you touch the earth with hands

As her child, putting down your sword?

Do you hear the sound

That’s a sad silvan starts,

Playing his woeful notes?

Under his old hands

As tense strings vibrate

Thin trunks of firs and pines.

The silent hymn

Continues to flow

Down the hills to the lake.

Like a thousand strings

The forest rings

Its woeful song.

Can you see the eyes in ancient pines?

Can you hear forgotten words?

Can you smell how salt and smoke collide?

Can you feel the wetness of the stones?

Can you ever understand the way

The forests run their turns?

Can you touch the earth with hands

As her child, putting down your sword?

Can you tell me why

The lake went dark

In the daylight?

Can you tell me why

The rye went loud?

What winds are whispering?

Can you tell me what

Is shining on

The old pines view?

Can you tell if those

Are drops of tears

Or freezing dew?

Can you see the eyes in ancient pines?

Can you hear forgotten words?

Can you smell how salt and smoke collide?

Can you feel the wetness of the stones?

Can you ever understand the way

The forests run their turns?

Can you touch the earth with hands

As her child, putting down your sword?