Will be born & nbsp; rustles, as & nbsp; & nbsp; in the fall-
Rustle & nbsp; in ditch & nbsp; & nbsp; reeds,
And & nbsp; pine & nbsp; & nbsp; forests & nbsp; with & nbsp; & nbsp; gray,
And & nbsp; around & nbsp; nor & nbsp; a single & nbsp; & nbsp; soul.
Whispers & nbsp; something & nbsp; & nbsp; river & nbsp; on & nbsp; rolling,
Over village & nbsp; pillars & nbsp; smoke.
&Nbsp; blue snow at the sunset,
And & nbsp;think & nbsp; think & nbsp; old men - & nbsp; oaks.
Stand under & nbsp; tent & nbsp; firs,
Creak & nbsp;frosty & nbsp; snow,
Watch the crawling shadows.
And & nbsp;let's go along edge & nbsp; on foot.
Fontanelle, as & nbsp; heart & nbsp; beats,
Hops & nbsp; & nbsp; arch & nbsp; over & nbsp; & nbsp; path.
Let the & nbsp; grace in soul & nbsp; return,
Hope, faith, and love.