[In the Anglo-Saxon lyric style]
The darkness of a winter, white and bitter,
Suddenly turns to treasure precious;
For in the wake of waning day-light
I am reminded, remorseful truth,
of life departing. A prayer is sung
Of a loved-one’s body-draught; the bleakest sorrow.
Time and fate, fellows of legacy,
Become ice-clear. I see their meeting-point,
In measure of days, drawing closer;
And this winter solemn now seems frost-fleeting.
Growing dearer are the days of chill
now seemingly wielded of wealthiest gold.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
[In the Anglo-Saxon lyric style]
The darkness of a winter, white and bitter,
Suddenly turns to treasure precious;
For in the wake of waning day-light
I am reminded, remorseful truth,
of life departing. A prayer is sung
Of a loved-one’s body-draught; the bleakest sorrow.
Time and fate, fellows of legacy,
Become ice-clear. I see their meeting-point,
In measure of days, drawing closer;
And this winter solemn now seems frost-fleeting.
Growing dearer are the days of chill
now seemingly wielded of wealthiest gold.