“Softly, leaves fall on the ground
Whispering without a sound
The cold stream is quickly flowing
And darkness is slowly growing

Sun sets behind the hills
The air is dry and chill
Somewhere a raven calls
And then the night falls

Up from the earth comes the moon
The stars will be appearing soon
Nothing stirs in the dark wood
And there is a calming mood

Deep is the murk, long is the night
High in the sky, the moon shines bright
An owl calls at every hour
Midnight, the peak of witches’ power

Wind begins to sway the trees
The first wave of morning breeze
Sun begins to rise again
And with grace, the dawn ascends”

Wulf Willelmson


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.

Wulf Willelmson