Lay of the Brook-side Sylph

[translated from proto-Finnish and sung in ancient Forlornian Mode]



The cold, the cold, the cold wind is blowing
The snow, the snow, the winter returning
The light, the light, the days are now fading

And the water now dancing and twining and splashing
Will be stilled in the ice and my brook will be sleeping

Now it's time that I go into the depths of my soul tree
Now it's time until spring that I dream in Old Mother
As the sky becomes gray and the cuckoo is a-haunting
I must leave and await a different moon and my lover

He will come then, he will twine meadow flowers in my long hair
We will laugh at the stars on the other side of winter
He will come from the distance where people are dwelling
We will smile at the butterflies in the passion of summer

The cold, the cold, the cold wind is blowing
The snow, the snow, the winter returning
The light, the light, the days are now fading......



Copyright © 2010, Tim Buck