Storm The world was young, but she was old, The earth was hot, the skies were cold; The drops of silver thread now fall Over lands to give them all: A stroke of happiness. There she stands, the sky's here throne, She watches over lands of stone; She watches over birds and folk And with here quiet music woke: A stroke of happiness. The skies are black, the drought has passed, Now we see the storm at last; Here she comes to spread her drops, Over lands and dried up crops. “Are those drops or are those tears? You've been spreading throw the years, You've been spreading over stone When you woke and stood alone.” “These are drops, these aren't tears I've been spreading throw the years, I've been spreading throw the night These drops for ever fair and bright. Maybe tears, but not of those That frighten deers, or squirrels , or crows. I shed these tears, I shed the light That makes the clouds glow in the night. I leave you all, I say farewell Were I'll go I mustn't tell From forests green and mountains tall, Now I wish to leave you all: This stroke of happiness.”