From filth and death of fallen autumn made complacent in her garb of winter White
comes new life with fresh new scent to please and to delight
and by this rebirth of spring make merry jests at winters swift demise
for from these fair messengers we feel as yet sweet summers on the rise
So cry harvest and let juice of yon apple run
as we brave again the hardship of labours beneath an uncaring yet welcome sun.