On the high ridge lives the happy giant,
Laughing where the pine trees lean.
His shadow keeps the snowfields quiet,
His boots know paths I’ve never seen.
Happy giant, broad and mild,
With moss in baerd and crow at heel,
Will you carry off this tired child
From rooms too narrow, days too real?
Come at dusk when lamps go blind,
When light forgets my name.
Lift me from the measured din,
From bread earned slow and hope kept tame.
We will sleep where stone stays warm,
Wake when owls begin their call,
Drink from springs untouched by form,
Hear no clocks, no bells at all.
Let the village keep its vows and sums,
Its folded hands, its counted breath.
Lead me past the alder drums
Into a life that smells of death.
If freedom asks a body lost,
If leaving means Im lost to ground,
I’ll pay the price, I’ll take the cost,
Carry me where joy is found.