The Crossing

The mountains are calling you brother
Come, they are waiting.
Come, there is a secret waiting.
You must go to the crossing

A child in dream
visits the mountains
converses with bears.
There is no fear.

Voices dance in shadows,
deep below luminous peaks
beneath the candled skies.

the little mountain people dance
they dance and glow.
In the dark earth
they weave their cobwebs.

Come, says the the wailing wind.

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