At the birth of the year, with winter’s end near, life takes a peek about.
Men thank their gods for the harvest they reap, the magic within each seed.
Thus the season of life, the season of love, calls for a celebration indeed.
I look at the sky, a scarlet canvas, as the sun bids me goodbye.
Sigh as I may, I’m with no one today, as another year goes by.
So I realize, as I reminisce – days of peace, days of war –
that I must say, if I may, that for certain I’ve come quite far.
Spring is here, once again with cheer, calling me to dance with her.
Perhaps she mocks me; let it be, but a dance I’d still prefer.
So bring out the mead, and we’ll celebrate indeed, until our minds go numb.
With the music we’ll dance into a subliminal trance, for our happier days have come.
For all I know, I shall transcend all woe, and embrace my battle scars.
And the moon tonight shall dance as well with all the lovely stars.