Night's crippling frost In the hollows at dawn The wind blowing from the depths of a void Blowing from the nethermost places of Earth And on the third day Near dusk . . . . .
Themselves were hated Their ways were of sheep And the stink of sheep Hung everywhere about them
Being come at last To the wilderness edge Made nightfall there The sheperds would go The next day to The sheltered fields The sequestered folds A more tolerant winter
Themselves were hated Their ways were of sheep And the stink of sheep Hung everywhere about them
They had no knowledge of the world Nor had they knowledge as yet of the angels Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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