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Sweet Calm

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"Wiegela, wiegela, weier,
der wind spielt auf der leier.
"

A soft breath of fresh air,
The wind whispers across the lyre,
The music echoes sweetly
As the nightingale sings her song.
Dawn is edging the horizon,
The wind plays on the lyre.

Standing in the meadow,
The moon is my lantern.
Looking down upon the world,
She illuminates the vast expanse of the night sky.
Stars twinkle above
And I breathe in once again.

The smell of grass
In the meadows
Tickles my throat.
The world remains so quiet,
No sound disturbing the sweet calm.
I breathe in and drift to sleep.
The wind no longer whistles.
A pale streak of morning
Peeks beyond the hill.
The world is silent.

We are all born of dust
From the very first creation
To our final cry,
And to ashes we shall return.
Only our stories will remain.