There is no boon in Spring,
In the way the birds sing,
Or in flowers that bloom.



The season of treason,
And Pregnant affliction
The season of rebirth.



Winter, there’s a beauty,
In weather’s agony,
And all is a ghost white.



Knowing the sun will rise,
Rise over cold demise,
That is total beauty.



Though Baldur sings in spring,
I will hear no such thing,
Instead I’ll watch her rise.



Rise over barren fields
That the cold, white snow yields
Watch and witness beauty.