Buried where none may see,
despised and out of sight:
The ground consumes the corpse;
the earth closes its mouth.
What dreams do dead men dream?
What hope lies in their breasts?
What sleeps within the dark?
When will I see the sun?
When will this seedling sprout?
The earth, broken, is soft;
the plow tore through the field.
The land is sown again
as winter slowly ends.
Tale Told 