I feel most happy in the shade
of trees in fall as colours fade.
In sunlit forests of birch and oak,
or in dark pinewoods of German folk.
On heather moor or rocky hill,
when sky is grey and wind is still.
I do not mind the rain sometimes,
except when winds blow hard and chill.
Mist and fog are always there
at harvest time, it’s never rare.
Sun and snow go hand in hand
on winter days in wilderland.
Blood and soil are bound for long
when we remember rhyme and song.
Our Mother Earth we shan’t forget,
so we can still embrace her yet.