Like a Last Moan

By the rustle of weeds and scratch of the trees

This sound got peal like a call for war;

Like a last moan filled with rage,

Like a thunder and heatlightnings razor

Meanwhile, the clouds gone by the wind’s scourge

Ran away from celestial meadows

To give the clear path for father’s one eye sight,

And the forest calmed in reverence.

But enemies vile army with devastating step

Still marched onwards through the mountains dales

And unstoppable was their greed to bring death,

Bring forth havoc, disaster and grief.

And lonely heroes that stood fearless

To fight against that force pathways -

All were burnt in rapacious wild flames

And rain washed their ashes away.

And grimnir stared down onto mountains and cliffs,

Onto plateau valleys scorched to dust

And then proclaimed his prophecy to the raven,

Revealing his mystic unseen visage:

«This ancient land, forests and woods,

Steppes and river rapids

Shall be abandoned by disasters and tortures

Just when honor becomes a brother of blood!»

A voice faded down, and just rumble of stones

That fell down from the steep crags -

It echoed long with waterfalls laments,

But some later became quiet too…