Winter’s shroud soon will pass,
The summer sun will come at last,
Plants will reach into the light,
The summer breeze will warm the night,
But we must await the sun to cast,
For Winter’s hand has not yet past.
The Holly King will hold on fast,
He will make this winter last,
He’ll send the ice, the snow, the rain,
He’ll send the wind to blow again,
Frozen lakes and frozen lands,
He’ll keep us all in Winter’s hand.
But fear ye not, his time is short,
The Oak King will soon make him abort,
His mission to bring about misery,
With his icy hands on you and me,
Then we’ll rejoice to see at last,
Winter’s hand, returned to the past.