The mist drifts off the hills,
A lazy cloak shed off a weary weaver.
Entering this realm of spirits,
Strange spirits that down hill
Out of the ghost-shade
Out of the timeless worlds;
Entering the mist, the mist
And fills me with essence of spirits,
The shadows disappear into a white infinity,
An immensity of haze.
This is spirit.
This is transience.
Soon the magnitude of the mysterious veil;
Sitting beside a fainting hearth
I await my resurrection with dawn.