I raise my hands to the sun
that shines in my face through the branches of oak
I call the words long forgotten
and feel the power of earth flowing into me
In this sacred place I'm not alone anymore
I hear the wood - spirits' voices
My memories slowly wake up from the sleep
And I know - nothing's forgotten
And then ahead of me at the sunset
an old man appears from the oak
as hypnotized I bend my head before him
The wood-spirits whisper me - it's the krive of krives
The forefathers' wisest wizard and loreman
he's gone long ago, yet still alive
"I am the spirit of this oak-tree,
never try to brandish your axe here,
I'll teach you enlighten your mind,
if you lay open your heart.
From the earth you have come, my son,
not from the heaven.
So, return to your mother -
may your part be your sword and the ploughshare,
And be aware - nothing's forgotten!"
