Nomadic instincts pulling strings,
like an enchanting melody from flute
calling from deep woods
and like a raging stream soul and spirit
long and they long to rush in;
deep woods calling,
an earthy embrace, the smell of soil,
melting rain sieves in ocean dreams.
Purplish nights, studded stars sprinkle
snow, snow, snow melt in
and paint blue all fiery reds.
Flute raining on nomadic reveries,
snow in, snow in purplish night’s stars.