The night beckons the gathering Owls;
These nocturnal birds
Who foment evil in the cloak of darkness.
These evil birds of the night
Who joy at the fall of the mighty
And detest the rise of the lowly.
Every ill in our land
Is wrought by their hands;

They are behind the deaths at birth,
And the woes of the womb which never births.
The ne'er-do-well
Is the work of their hand.
If a witch cries in the night,
And a child dies in the morning,
We do not go to the soothsayer
To ask what killed the child.