The mountain blows, the landscape is destroyed.
A desert where there once were fields and gardens.
Black lava where flowers once brought joy.
And then shoots of grass come through the blackness;
Slowly love asserts itself again.
He calls, I cry, we go through days of whispers,
And fields once more grow lush in sun and rain.
Ah! but now I'm fearful of the mountain:
I walk by trembling, set for it to blow.
Life's beautiful, but also very painful;
I have the strength to love, now that I know.
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