Clingging to the rest the fallen herb stands,
whille woods scorched by the sun blight,
Whisper the battle in slow rising... slow!
And Herbs, like the flowers,fast to the Light,
Stretched out to the vice of a bloody glow.

Even forced or subdued, she bends,
But no break will come through.
There in the upper hill the fallen Herb stands!
Alone but full, crying rage to her foes.