I watch white clouds drift high above,
Above the Dumel, in gentle love.
Like mother hens, so soft and wide,
They hide the raindrops deep inside.
Then slowly turn, and float away,
Perhaps displeased with me this day.
But hush, dear clouds, don't be upset,
My golden mists, you haven't met.
The reeds stand tall, with furry grace,
Awaiting drops upon their face.
The forest paths, they twist and wind,
Leave off your grief, a traveler find.
Don't let the dust your spirit claim,
A weary soul will speak my name.
Then I will bloom in vibrant hue,
And quench his thirst, make all things new,
Even in seasons hot and dry,
Hope blossoms 'neath a patient sky.
