Your warmth, your soft warmth I beg for,
streaming long before man came on the Earth.
In the hidden virgin forest's downy bird's-nests
bore the strongholds of life the same protective warmth.

From anguish-burning skies we sink into
the darkness of the nest, where life no longer questions.
For the games of the clouds are an illusion and a reflection,
but all which is born and bears is the gift of the deep.

Day is dawning, and the air is full of swishing wings.
The soaring bird rejoices: I live from light!
But hidden in the silence rests his welfare.
Your warmth, your deep warmth gives me a soul.

~Author: Karin Boye ~

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