When ice melts on the hilly slopes,
The rivers will swell, and begin to grope,
Their winding journey to the sea,
Past open fields where winter’s been.
Past tall trees now bearing leaves,
Past soft grass of vivid green,
Over rocks where snow has been,
The watery convoy heads downstream.
Animals wake from winter sleep,
And from their beds they stiffly creep,
Into the golden springtime sun,
Once more to walk, once more to run.
The sky above, no longer grey,
The sun God sends his golden rays,
As winter retreats and disappears,
And in the woods, the Green Man cheers.
All that live upon this land,
Rejoice to see that winter’s hand,
Has been returned into the past,
For Spring is here, again, at last.
—Alan Faraway, Pagan Ways
Witches Of The Craft® 