The shining fire in the garth stands firmly high
abiding death of hearth,
It has destroyed each piece of nested faith,
Turned black its nature with all wrath.
And after that it flees away,
This sacred wave, this burning may.

Cold darkness covers ravaged land,
And freezes all revengeful men,
Slays down hope and blows the dust.
Prepares new turn for the stars.

And silent calmness, restrained strength
Devours completely wave of fires
Removes the curse of false desires,
Takes every crystal cold and dark,
Then cleanses all regretful marks.

The sail’s set for far new home,
All births are empty of decisions,
Intention keeps away from visions
And holds path skyward to the tomb.
So being reached this mark will prove
to be a skylark flying from a cat.
That’s just a place replenishing a thought:
The real aim is far beyond.