In the clearing beneath the hill,
The shadows danced with the wind,
Along its dances I heard music,
And some poetry softly rhyming.
The whole year round I kept passing,
Along the clearing without rushing,
For I wanted to take a look,
At the shadows graceful dancing,
And to listen to the tune,
Which kept singing all along.

I loved to sit under the tree,
For it cuddled a mystery,
And through waiting I could see,
Who’s reciting the poetry.
He was a blind man in his prime,
With traces of smile in the eyes,
His face glowed with serenity,
And some uttered divinity,
His gallant verses chastely displayed,
The exquisite human quality.

One night while I was walking,
I still saw shadows danced on air,
In the gleam of moonlight rays,
They perfectly hopped in full array.
With some smooth melodious refrain,
The music lingered and never abstained,
The old man still narrated right,
His poetry in full delight.

But one time in a moonless night,
There was a panic near in sight,
A hideous prowler attacked the hill,
And cast them out against their will,
I knew awful cries were everywhere,
Fleeing to safety they ran for nowhere,
I cried heavy tears for my mystic friends,
That night I thought would never end.

And in the morning as I passed by,
Along the clearing I deeply sighed,
For the shadows, who danced no more,
And for the music that lost its tune,
For the old man who ceased to rhyme,
The fullness of life they had in time.