January’s light is bright and sure;
Skipping, dancing, o’er river and moor.

February’s lamp is warm and yellow;
Prancing, jumping, like faeries so mellow.

March’s candles are orange and cool;
Autumn leaves drop into the pool.

April’s sun is starting to fade;
Slowly, slowly, trying to evade.

May’s moon is cold and bright;
Illuminating even the darkest night.

June’s glow is small and short;
So little present, so dearly sought.

August’s dawn is soft and thin;
But slowly growing from the dim.

September’s beacon is red and crescent;
Emerging from the darkness to be ever-present.

October’s star is hot and strong;
The days and shadows are growing long.

November’s torch is happy and loud;
Laughing and playing alongside the crowd.

December’s bulb is joyous and true;
It was lighted for me; it was lighted for you.