Enchantment

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.