Biding the season, governed by time,
ever so patiently in wait,
a turning, molten, sleeping world
so idly thrust into blankets of white.
Glistening, watery stones
so small and cold to the touch,
uplifted by angry, gusting winds
that fill our diminished sight.
A warm and golden living world,
now so cold and disheartening,
the weight we bear on our bodies
is reflected in how our hearts feel.
Fumbling blindly, reaching out
as we stumble through the darkness
of this yearly fight in our existence
in the turning of the Wheel.
At the wisdom and the mercy
of the elements working around us,
uncertainty shroud soundly in such dark skies
of the longest night, such as this.
Will our home, so sturdy and true,
turn again for one day more,
or will the new day that we anxiously await
be nothing but a day gone amiss?
For the light given by the dawn,
we remain here, bound together by bond,
making our stance against the winds
ever demanding, ever so cold.
Tribes gathered in peaceful meet,
drawn together to face our fears
as we anxiously await for the great sky
to open again in its ribbons of gold.
Should the sun rise again,
in his cherished grace and splendour,
another turning of the universal Wheel
we will humbly, gratefully await;
but if he should run away to hide,
leaving his sister to gain all the day,
together we take the steps and journey
onto the next adventure in that which is our fate.