You’ve failed. Life remains unslain.
So brew your darkling clouds and rain,
Or even more snow, if you think that you can.
Can’t you hear that underground?
That deep and distant whispered sound.
Your rule of this land is drawing to a close
As that gentle whisper grows.
The frost clothed tree has heard it,
And though its rigid boughs are mute,
I hear its slowly waking roots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem