Under Black Clouds Winter Solstice
Within the misty late year's forest In times when slouds and trees stand empty Nine thousand wolves are gathered in the snow To raise a long and greyish howl. Ebony black the earth went into the night Re-awoken, covered now in silver white Softly veiled by sparking moisture Out of the wolwes ' throats up to the sky. Lap of sunrise sweated by birth pains its child - a cold red fireball Sharp silhouettes of old and tired eyes Their cradle stuffed with leaves and fog. Impossible to march the shortest way today Come forth tied up all in wolwes' breath Early , therefore , the evening approaches it is the time of Winter Soltice.
