The old man spoke and told his son
“Today thou shalt kill me:
I’ve read upon the spring’s meek breeze
That thus it has to be.

By the ancient sword you’ll spill my life
Which many a foe once slew,
And afterwards you’ll gird it on
For there’s who waits for you.

In three parts the remains of mine
You’ll cut after I’m dead:
Bury one, the second burn,
The last will lead your tread.
The third piece take along with you,
That may your steps be led.”

“Alas, my father whose eyes blind
See though more than appears,
How can I brandish thine old sword
With sight so dimmed with tears?

How can I leave these mountains which
My green years did behold?
The steps I’ll take this warm spring-night
I’ll take with heart so cold…”

“Sad is our fate, Kedèa, though we
Must stand and hold our heart.
Now come here for a last embrace
For it is time to part.
Come forward now, that I can hug
My son ere I depart.”

The silence burdened like a shroud
When Kèdea left alone,
And followed he the western wind
With soul as heavy as stone.