Father, you are my rock and it is to you I call. I tell myself, there is no reason to have faith. I lie, saying - “your way is wrong.” But your way is not a way, is is the way,
A thousand days go by, of every one I long to be near your Summer wind and see your dusk moon shine. Emotional waves crash into me and thwart me with their crests, you're so far away now,
Fine is his silky mane, waving wildly in the storm. A Gypsy stallion watches, as before him helpless hollow limbs of trees fall, struggling in the gale.