Moorsong

Entrapped, in freezing mire here I've stood
Surrounded by dwarf birches, hoary reeds
Now, facing down the pale and gibbous Moon
I'm sinking, stiff with cold and in too deep

Cruel frost splits tree-trunks
Wolven howls are carried by cold air from far away
The wind, it softly whispers while it prowls
The gurgling mire swallows me this day

Ice lays a cover onto my damp grave
The snow will form a proper burial mound
I only leave behind this sombre lay
That moorlands sing from deep beneath the ground