Our brothers in flight,
We find you here,
Weary and wasted,
Cold and broken,
Before the rise of our warming father.

On the branches of our gnarled mother,
We gather ourselves together.
We nestle, we chatter, we whisper
To the falling blind eye.

Our brothers in flight,
Though bare our gnarled mother is,
She clothes us with warmth and protection.
From the servants of man,
She protects us.
From the servants of our ground mother,
She protects us.

The warming father greets her with a kiss,
And to us he bids a safe flight.
Up to the sky we rise, brothers in the eaves.
Say your good-byes to our dear, gnarled mother.

Fare thee! Fare thee!
Fare thee well until our return to this land!
May the white cold cloak you well, gnarled mother,
Until we and our children return.