The birds are flying along the Milky Way,
the bird-path leading to the lands of day,
the warm lands of summer and light
at the edge of the world, far from cold night.
The birds bring the soul as it draws its first breath;
the birds take the soul as it stumbles on death;
the birds guide the soul through the labyrinth of dream,
the fields of illusion where the will o' wisps gleam;
and they come in the winter to the edge of all lands
to chatter and play on the summer-warm sands.