In the heart of Germany, green and wide,
lies the Harz Mountains in summertime.
The beeches rustle, spruces stand,
the treetops dance gently in the wind.
A stream babbles through moss and stone,
its water clear, like sunshine.
The forests smell spicy and gentle,
as if the day had made itself.
The witches have long since stopped dancing,
but you can still feel the old fairy tales -
on Brocken heights, windswept,
where mists drift when the sun goes.
The butterflies, colorful and light,
fly where the sun reaches.
A deer steps quietly out of the greenery,
to burn up in the silence.
The summer air is mild and soft,
the world seems peaceful, still and equal.
In the Harz Mountains, the soul likes to rest -
summer lives here, not far away at all.
Author unknown
