Classic Poem

Mighty Mother, you who bring forth all things in the light winds, who shine afar decked with many boughs, who from your breast all-bearing in all lands largely afford sustenance to the trees and the swaying grass, tenderly take up this lad and his dying limbs; out of your might, O Goddess, grant that for ever he live.
So when the new year blows with the West-wind sweetly returning still as a snow-bright flower shall his body endure.