When the sun is weak and the nights are long
You hear earth singing a different song.
The mist rises white from the grass all around
Life stirs in its sleep underneath the ground.
The deep dark earth, soon to be our home,
This is the place from where visions come.
The visions rise and seem to me
As solid as the trunk of the old oak tree.
And none would believe them if they didn't know
That something like the oak from dull earth would grow.
And just as improbable and just as odd
To this dark earth came the son of god.
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