Granny ruins

My head is home to the words of the 
many new title. 
No one has asked me to write, 
still of my way slowly to the world takes you. 
Nations, countries of the furnace, 
new songs again once I do, 
and lead my path midsummer. 

I open the closed gate, 
and pastures are left with the gate opener. 
I'm granny ruins of the land to be, 
I see there's rusty bike frames, 
broken old time Ahti herring jars. 
Witch rusty throat cans, 
who we are filled with a small child feels goods, 
who were like treasures. 

Smoke sauna in the ruins, yet I see the charred 
the board cuts, think back to the old Midsummer Lights 
the magic, the secrets.