[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.