Look! Across the fields and see an ocean of ice retreating,
To a pale silver blush of frost on the distant mountain peaks,
And then, the whistle of a plover, pied herald of a benevolent mother;
A warm fragrance, a taste of inspiration, cold palms eager for the forge...
O' your breath is a fresh sigh of new life, like mist across lands neglected by summers light.
So, the flame licks the shadows past, your hearth is kindled; Welcome...
Your pregnant joy bursts into blossoms of color, and lambs suckle on spring milk.
To a pale silver blush of frost on the distant mountain peaks,
And then, the whistle of a plover, pied herald of a benevolent mother;
A warm fragrance, a taste of inspiration, cold palms eager for the forge...
O' your breath is a fresh sigh of new life, like mist across lands neglected by summers light.
So, the flame licks the shadows past, your hearth is kindled; Welcome...
Your pregnant joy bursts into blossoms of color, and lambs suckle on spring milk.
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