Drops fall,
As Winter's fingers loosen their grip.
Birds call,
Something's moving on the edge of morning.
Bound stones,
Breathe a sigh and shift in the earth.
Stiff bones,
Give out a crack that's more salute than warning.
Deep within the forest,
Birds begin to sing,
The King is dead!
Long live the King!
Romance,
Warming, stirring in our hearts and blood.
A slow dance,
Draws to a close. Then the music quickens.
The World turns,
And takes us with it like a blithe Pied Piper,
A slow burn,
Is subtly growing as the Winter sickens.
Deep within the forest,
Birds begin to sing,
The King is dead!
Long live the King!
Somewhere in the darkness,
Bells begin to ring,
Winter is dead!
Long live the Spring!
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