Leaving My Homeland

What does the birch tree whisper Beneath my window-pane? What tears does it shed gently From its wounded, weeping frame?

Perhaps the time for parting Was never meant for me? Perhaps by fate's own granting I'm given one chance more to see?

Yet a harsh and solemn truth rings clear: A road awaits me there ahead, While you must face the axe's bite— A different fate to bear instead.

So let us weep together, You and I, this grief outpour, I—with soul afflicted, You—with broken timber's sore…