I know a place
Where oak trees grow
And silver-white birches too
It's very still
And very wet
And the trees are very tall.
All the leaves are green
If you go there now
And the ferns are greener still
If you go at dusk
There are owls calling
With a song of twilight shrill
And the wood so softly singing
In a language strange to hear
Yet the song it sings will find you
As the twilight draws you near.
