Dear friends, in the lands where the northern seas waves break, people say she had been born under a grove of beeches, holding a lyre with its thin arms and guarded by a bunch of wolves. His eyes have the green colour of the ferns and no one has ever heard his music. They don’t even know her real name, or if she really could be a saint or a princess. It is only said that whoever that could hears her voice, will never stop singing.
Let fly imagination and listen to her.