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THEY WERE THE LEGENDS OF MINSTRELS

THAT WERE THE LIVING INTHE WATHERING OF THE WIND

THEY WERE THE VOICES OF DEATH MOUNTAINS

THAT WERE ECHOED ON THE SLOPES

THEY WERE THE WIND BRINGING SOULS MAKING

AMONG THE BLACK ROSES THROWING BY LAMENTS

LAST FULLMOON BIRDS WERE FLAPPING TO IMMORTALITY

IT WAS NOT THE LAST CULPA WINE THAT SHUT THE HEAVEN DOOR

WITH THE FIRST SIGN OF FALL NATURE WAS BRIGHTENED UP

LOOKING EARTH AND WITH SORROW

SKY WAS WASHING UP WITH FULLMOON AS THE DARKNESS HAS FALLEN DOWN